Black Sun, Rising
by Braxin
Summary: A gritty glimpse into an AU setting.
1. Chapter 1

.

You ask,

and so I'll tell you that the Hegemony Wars changed everything,

altered the political layout of four entire quadrants of space.

.

And I remember…

I remember the day that Vulcan died as the day on which some of us realized,

that the Gorn Hegemony would settle for nothing less than everything,

and so we readied ourselves to face them,

though it cost us our careers, though the odds against us were dire,

but frankly we were out of options,

for the Gorn don't take prisoners,

or accept surrender.

.

For most, those days are nothing but a distant memory now,

but I still remember,

that before the battle of Regulus, I was an explorer,

before Sigma 9, I was a soldier,

before Wolfram, I was a man with hope... but that battle was made bitter by defeat.

Still, at the end of it,

a mix of disparate ships and strategies coalesced into a true fighting force,

and thus the Bands were born,

.

And so we prospered, and rapidly grew in strength and cunning,

becoming a shiv in the Hegemony's back,

and as thanks the Gorn made a massive push to wipe us Humans out.

.

The prospect of extinction loomed large in my eyes that day,

so I grabbed hold the reins of power,

and I did those things which needed doing,

to stand against the Gorn,

and eventually give life to Vulcan,

once more.

.

— dictated by the Tyrant, to the 3rd of his children, Lydia T'Les Tucker.


	2. Chapter 2

**— Chapter 02 —**

* * *

T'Pol woke in the middle of the night, disoriented for a time, and then the memories of the previous night rushed in. She turned her head, glanced at the dimly lit figure of the man sleeping next to her, and then the Vulcan slipped from the bed, dressing quietly in preparation for making a swift departure from this place, never too see this man again. He'd been been such a disappointment… he'd been aggressive, demanding, cruel and seemingly ready to explode, and T'Pol had done her best to fuel that volatile nature with booze and drugs, sincerely praying that the man would kill her during, or after their coupling, for that was the basis on which she selected her sexual partners these days… but then she'd hoped for death on many nights, with many others, and she'd always been disappointed in the end.

Dressed now, T'Pol slipped into the bathroom and closed the door before turning on the light. She dug through her purse for a few moments and then drew out a pill case holding a mixture of drugs, none of them legal, all of them bought from shady characters, and all of which she badly needed in order to cope with the misery her life had become, the misery which life had become for all Vulcans since the Gorn had destroyed Vulcan, five years earlier…

None had even expected an attack from that quarter, given the Gorn Hegemony's historically isolationist stance, but five years past had witnessed a violent martial outburst from the Hegemony, a series of military campaigns like no other… they'd gone to war against the Klingon Empire with a brutality that had robbed the Klingons of a third of their empire, even as the Klingons fought desperately to retain the rest, and then the Gorn had pressed against the borders of the Tholian Assembly, taking a fifth of the Assembly's territory in the initial rush, even as the Gorn continually pushed for more.

Just then, the Vulcans, driven by either altruism or fear, approached the Gorn Hegemony with offers to negotiate an end to these conflicts as a disinterested third party. The Hegemony's response came in the form of a Gorn fleet which forced its way through the Vulcan Navy, to reach Vulcan and then bombard that planet from orbit with an ungodly amount of Trellium-D, thoroughly seeding the Vulcan atmosphere with that toxin long before the Vulcan Navy managed to destroy the attacking fleet.

How the Gorn had come to learn of Trellium-D's effects on Vulcan physiology was a mystery, for the element itself was previously unknown to most, and its effects on Vulcan physiology were surely even more obscure, but what followed next was heartbreaking… within hours, a once vibrant culture and people began collapsing into chaos, as Vulcan succumbed to a wave of madness which only grew in intensity with each passing hour, until it eventually consumed the entire planet. The grim zombie movies of Terran manufacture could not even hint at the horror, as billions of Vulcan men, women, and children lost their reason under the effects of Trellium-D, turning Vulcan into a hellish nightmare as the Vulcans began preying on each other, driven into a mindless killing frenzy as they sank deeper and deeper into madness.

It was later theorized that the Hegemony's destruction of Vulcan was due to an eventual, already planned expansion into the Vulcan sector, and Vulcan's meddling in the Hegemony's affairs merely providing a pretext to wipe out a future adversary already marked for death: but no matter the reason, the deed was done, and out of a thriving population of some eleven billion Vulcans in the Vulcan sector, only some seven hundred million survived, most of that number coming from Vulcan's off-world colonies… from the Vulcan homeworld came but nine million survivors, all of them damaged to a lessor or greater extent, though they'd been the fortunate ones, largely protected from the worst of Trellium-D's effects by quick thinking in retreating to shelters long prepared against possible Andorian attack.

Within days of the Gorn attack, as the nature of the Hegemony's weapon became clear, the surviving Vulcans fled the Vulcan sector for the Terran, as even productive and untouched Vulcan colonies were abandoned in fear of further Gorn attacks, and such was Vulcan's plight that even Andorian ships, acting on the Emperor's orders, played a crucial role in evacuating Vulcan's survivors, and transporting them to Earth.

Earth took them all in as payment for Vulcan's aid after the last Terran world war, making a place for these Vulcans in the Terran sector and dispersing them between Earth and it's in-system colonies on Luna, Mars, and the various moon colonies orbiting Jupiter and Saturn, as well as Earth's huge out-system colony on Alpha-Centauri. Surprisingly, the Vulcans fleeing their own colonies integrated rapidly enough, considering the shock to their psyche, but Vulcan's own survivors had a harder time of it, most dealing with the after effects of Trellium poisoning and the accompanying loss of mental discipline, and all that chaos further compounded by shock, fear, hatred, depression and despair, dark emotions which Trellium poisoning only exacerbated.

T'Pol was one such survivor… she'd been on Vulcan at the time of the Gorn attack, concluding the exit interviews which were a last step in closing out her time with the Vulcan Navy, all in preparation for joining Ambassador Soval's diplomatic mission to Earth, and she'd been exposed to Trellium-D during those first hours, when no one knew exactly what type of pollutant had been laid in Vulcan's atmosphere by the Gorn.

But things began quickly spiraling out of control all over Vulcan even as T'Pol made way for home, to see that T'Les, her mother, was safe… and when the High Command finally urged all military personnel to seek safety within underground shelters, after trying for hours, and failing, to suppress the growing wave of violence engulfing the planet, T'Pol led her mother to one such shelter, brutally assaulting two Vulcans in the process, and running down another half dozen or more with her vehicle when they tried to force their way inside the vehicle, and all that as T'Pol herself just barely resisted the rage and disorientation which were part and parcel of Trellium poisoning in the affected Vulcans.

Still, somehow, T'Pol and her mother had made it to a shelter where only T'Pol's military rank gained her admittance, for she was clearly afflicted by the madness to some degree, though she'd pretended to some level of discipline by the time they reached the shelter. Fortunately, T'Les' exposure had been less than that of her daughter, for the mother had spent the day indoors, and had then ridden along with T'Pol in a vehicle whose filtration mechanism trapped Trellium every bit as efficiently as it did Vulcan's fine red dust, so once inside the shelter it was the mother who soothed a daughter hanging onto her sanity only by the merest of margins.

Eventually, after weeks of isolation in that shelter, relief had come in the form of large transport shuttles, come to ferry the survivors from Vulcan, and shortly afterward, ships full of rescued Vulcans lifted off planet for the last time. For every Vulcan leaving the home planet for the last time on that flight, and the many other flights which lifted off the planet during weeks of rescue operations, the sight was a horror… Vulcan cities burning, even as mobs of crazed Vulcans, seemingly more dead than alive, warred in the streets to no purpose, without logic, killing each other mercilessly… the emotional impact of all this, even on those Vulcans who had largely avoided exposure to Trellium, was impossible to overstate.

However, as the days turned into weeks, and then turned into months, it all came to an end, for though the Vulcan Navy had left ships in Vulcan's orbit to monitor the situation while Vulcan and Terran scientists searched frantically for a cure, eventually, all hope died… a cure for Trellium poisoning never materialized despite all efforts, but the violence on Vulcan eventually tapered down to nothing as the afflicted Vulcans died by the tens of millions each day, until eventually only a dreadful silence reigned on Vulcan, as that planet became a tomb.


	3. Chapter 3

— **Chapter 03 —**

* * *

After silently leaving the motel room, T'Pol walked the streets for a time before she reached a bus line, and soon after she rode within a largely empty bus while glancing desolately out the window until the bus eventually reached her neighborhood. Here the Vulcan stepped wordlessly from the bus and walked the empty streets towards her place, in a relatively humble section of San Francisco whose only redeeming features were a mediocre view of San Francisco Bay, an Asian grocery store with a good inventory of fruit & vegetables, and a wonderful bakery not far off, which was more than enough for T'Pol, and her mother.

Once home, T'Pol quietly slipped into the house, showered and then gazed at her face and body in the mirror… she noted the bruises on her body and the look of silent despair in her eyes, and with that T'Pol turned away, for it had been a long time since the Vulcan could bear to face herself. She swallowed three opioid pills to dull the psychological pain she'd lived with since the day she'd failed her people, and with that T'Pol made her way to the living room, where she sat at the bay window, looking out at the inky blackness of San Francisco's bay, broken only by the running lights of boats plying their trade upon the water.

It was there that T'Les found her daughter, when the mother woke at six o'clock in the morning. The dawn would not come for another hour on this chilly winter morning, so T'Les walked to her daughter's side, kissed the top of T'Pol's head, and touched her daughter's shoulder, for T'Les' affections for her daughter were more openly displayed now that T'Pol was in such dire emotional straits, for T'Les was not blind to T'Pol's suffering.

"How are you, T'Pol?" said T'Les, noting a palm sized bruise on the back of her neck.

"Fine, mother," said T'Pol.

T'Les seemed to accept those words at face value for T'Pol would deny any other interpretation… every Vulcan bore Vulcan's death as the gravest of wounds, but T'Pol seemingly held herself personally responsible for that death, for she'd still been a Vulcan Navy officer at the time of the attack, and still held that her place should have been in space, defending Vulcan from the Gorn fleet instead of testifying before a useless committee when the Gorn attacked… nothing helped ease the Vulcan's mind in that respect, and due to that perceived failure, and the dire consequences for Vulcan, T'Pol hated herself with an intensity which was hard for T'Les to bear…

Now, mother left daughter, as T'Les puttered about the kitchen for a bit, before returning to the bay window with a pot of tea, two cups, and a cinnamon scone for T'Pol.

"Have some tea, T'Pol, and a bite to eat. Please."

"Thank you, mother," said T'Pol, and with that, mother and daughter savored what little peace they had in their lives together.

T'Les had done her best to accommodate herself to the current situation, and had taken a teaching position at San Francisco State University which paid for this small townhouse and their essential needs, and T'Les was satisfied with that… she'd given up all hope for herself, though she still hoped for something better for T'Pol, even though the girl was seemingly bent on self destruction… but all T'Les could do was to be there for T'Pol, and hope that was enough.

"I have to get ready for work, T'Pol," said T'Les, once she'd finished her second cup of tea. "What would you like for dinner tonight, my dear? I'll pick up anything you like, on my way home."

"Whatever you choose is fine, mother," said T'Pol.

T'Les nodded and left the room to dress for her day, and by the time she'd readied to leave the house T'Pol was curled up in her bed… she seemed to be sleeping, on first glance, but T'Les noted that T'Pol shoulders were shaking, and the mother's sharp hearing picked up the sound of her daughter's keening cry, only somewhat muffled by her pillow. Although T'Pol's emotional control had been shattered by the Trellium, she still felt shame for those lapses, no matter how illogical that impulse, so there was nothing for T'Les to do, or say here… so mother merely whispered a declaration of love, after which she kissed her daughter's head once more, and then left the house.

* * *

T'Pol eventually slept for three hours after T'Les left the house, and then the Vulcan woke, dressed, and headed on her daily rounds. Each day, she took a bus to the Vulcan Embassy to Earth, where she waited in line for hours, seeking to speak with someone about her request to join the remnants of Vulcan's Navy. She'd begged for any post, on any ship of war, begged for a chance to serve her people, either in defense, or in offense, taking the war to the Gorn… but the answer was the same as always: "So sorry, SubCommander. There are no open positions at this time. We have your contact information though, so there's no need to come down here daily. We will contact you the moment we have a position for you."

All that was as good as saying, "Drop dead, SubCommander, we'll never have a position for you, because we can not trust any of the Vulcans rescued off-planet. You are all damaged beyond repair, and nothing but a fucking liability on a ship of war, so stop coming by here and annoying us."

"I will check again tomorrow," said T'Pol, and then she found her way from the embassy, after which she took a short bus ride to reach StarFleet's HQ campus.

Again, she waited in line for hours, but at least the Humans humored her more than her own people… they'd offered her a position at StarFleet's campus, teaching science classes to StarFleet cadets, offered her even a post in StarFleet's HQ building in some minor administrative role, but T'Pol was driven to gain berth on a ship of war for she just knew that they'd eventually have to face the Gorn, and T'Pol hoped to fight and die against the Gorn… truly, it was all she hoped for these days, a redemption for failing her people, and frankly it was the only reason she'd not taken direct action to end her misery.

"I'm sorry, SubCommander," said the Human officer, Eckers. "I have nothing for you aboard one of our ships."

"Thank you for your time, Lt. Eckers," said T'Pol, rising to her feet. "I will check with you again tomorrow."

Eckers nodded, knowing that nothing he could say would deter this Vulcan from coming by the next day, and the next, and the next… it was admirable really, and it was sad that T'Pol would likely never be trusted aboard a StarFleet vessel, given the results of her psyche evaluations, to which she'd subjected herself to in order to gain a berth in StarFleet.

"SubCommander," said Eckers, as the Vulcan stood, and seemed about to turn away. "A moment longer, please."

"Yes?" said T'Pol, hopeful against her better instincts.

"Please take a seat," said Eckers, and once T'Pol had taken a seat, the man spoke again. "Let me be frank with you. The Fleet will most likely never give you a position, SubCommander. I know it's not fair, but it is a fact. But there is an alternative which you may find acceptable."

"Which is?" said T'Pol, crushed by Eckers' words, but willing to hear the man out.

"Have you heard of the Federated War Bands?"

"Yes," said T'Pol, recalling what she'd read of the Bands. "Shortly after Vulcan's… after Vulcan's death, a number of StarFleet officers and enlisted men, two thousand or so, tendered their resignations, disgusted by the fact that EarthGov and StarFleet refused to do anything to prepare for battle with the Gorn Hegemony. If the accounts I have read are accurate, they made their way to Vulcan, being immune to Trellium poisoning by virtue of their species, where they rehabilitated a number of the Vulcan ships damaged in the battle with the Gorn fleet, as well as completed the construction of some unfinished ships which were abandoned by my people on the construction line, in their haste to make their departure before the Gorn should return. Supposedly they are conducting scouting missions against the Gorn."

"Mostly correct," said Eckers, "though the number of StarFleet personnel was closer to forty-five hundred, maybe a few more, and they took with them thousands of Human volunteers, some thirteen thousand or so, many of them retired military, some of them retired StarFleet personnel. StarFleet's HQ wasn't really disturbed over the matter given that there are always more men than ships, but those numbers have only grown in the past five years… it wasn't just Humans, SubCommander. Soon after, thousands of your own people joined the War Bands as well, eager for payback against the Gorn, though they couched those sentiments in terms of logic. At last count, there were seventeen Bands in operation, with some thirty thousand crewmen, and hundreds of ships, and their numbers are only growing larger, and that's not even mentioning the other volunteers serving on Delta Vega in various supporting roles. At this point the Bands are actually larger than StarFleet, or the Vulcan Navy, though not larger than both combined, which is still, impressive as hell."

"That doesn't sound right. Those Bands could not have salvaged hundreds of Vulcan ships," said T'Pol. "Surely my people didn't just abandon that many ships, damaged or not, no matter how great their fear of subsequent Gorn attacks."

"They did not abandon that many ships, SubComander, you're right," said Eckers. "There are only sixty or so Vulcan cruisers spread out among the Bands, but the Bands raid Orion space, confiscating the Orion's up-armored merchant ships, then arming them further, even as they relieve the Orions of supplies, and slaves, many of which are then inducted in the Bands, or in service on Delta Vega, for a time, as the price of their freedom."

"That is clever," said T'Pol, "but surely it must be impossible to maintain order with shanghaied personnel."

"I don't know the particulars, SubCommander," said Eckers, "but apparently they maintain discipline well enough to function efficiently."

"I see," said T'Pol.

"Even the Andorian Emperor played a role in growing the Bands, for he knows that every armed ship standing against the Gorn in that sector gives Andoria additional powers of resistance against an eventually expected Gorn attack, and so the Emperor offered a number of older military ships and willing veterans to the Federated War Bands. Five of the seventeen Bands are Andorian, and they're working willingly with the Human, and Vulcan, Bands."

"Fascinating," said T'Pol. "I knew none of this."

"Well, neither StarFleet nor the Vulcan Navy want to make too much of it," said Eckers, "as I don't believe they like having all those men and ships outside of their command authority, though there's not much they can do about it. Admiral Forrest went out there two years ago, along with your Vulcan Admiral S'Kass, in order to lay down the law and bring these Bands to heel, but I heard it said that their orders and directives were ignored, and the admirals were sent packing for Earth quite unceremoniously."

T'Pol nodded, but said nothing, for the Vulcan was thinking furiously.

"And here's the rub of it, SubCommander," said Eckers. "These Bands are doing a lot more than just scouting missions. They're taking the war to the Gorn."

"I see," said T'Pol, seeing the thrust of Eckers' conversation.

"I'm sure that you do, SubCommander," said Eckers. "Look, I'll be direct with you. You may, or may not be fit to serve aboard a combat ship, SubCommander, but you'll never have a chance to prove yourself in StarFleet… you may be given a chance to prove yourself in the Bands."

T'Pol nodded, lost in though for a time, then said, "Where will I find the Bands?"

"They're based on Delta Vega," said Eckers.

Delta Vega, thought T'Pol. StarFleet's designation for T'Kahl, one of the four planets in the Vulcan system, and one never settled by the heat loving Vulcans, for Delta Vega was a cold world, too far removed from the sun to be considered hospitable by Vulcans.

"You are certain of the location?" said T'Pol.

"Yes, of course I'm certain, SubCommander," said Eckers. "Initially the Bands were based on T'Khut, but that location disturbed the Vulcan crews, so the Bands fell back to Delta Vega."

T'Khut, the Watcher, was Vulcan's tidally locked twin planet, and the view from T'Khut, gazing down onto dead Vulcan cities would indeed be… disturbing.

"Thank you for this information, Lt. Eckers," said T'Pol, and the Vulcan stood. "I found it most helpful."

"Good," said Eckers, "but before you leave, hear me out, SubCommander."

T'Pol raised brow, and waited.

"Despite EarthGov's/StarFleet's displeasure at their orders being rebuffed, they've decided to support the Federated Bands," said Eckers, rising to his feet. "The Bands venture far and wide in search of the Gorn, and the intelligence they provide is considered invaluable. They've sent us scans and schematics of Gorn ships and equipment, actual hardware, Gorn corpses to dissect and study, alien computer cores, etc…"

"And so?" said T'Pol.

"And so Earth sends regular supply convoys to Delta Vega, delivering foods and munitions, and returning with hardware and information," said Eckers. "Which brings me to this… I can call in a favor if you like, see you're given a place on the next convoy as a cargo handler, if you're game to try your luck with the Bands, SubCommander."

"I am," said T'Pol, willing to gamble everything on this shot, for Eckers' way gave her everything she'd sought. "When?"

"Call me three days from now," said Eckers, handing T'Pol his card. "First thing in the morning. I'll see you loaded on the next supply convoy."

T'Pol pocketed the card, and said, "I will be forever in your debt, Lt. Eckers."


	4. Chapter 4

**— Chapter 04 —**

* * *

T'Pol groaned with the effort of holding back a drunken Klingon as that brute tried to steal a kiss from the Vulcan in the midst of the busiest bar in Echo One, the more or less permanent base camp established by the Federated Bands on Delta Vega.

"Come on, Vulcan!" said the Klingon. "Don't be coy!"

A moment later the Klingon tensed in perfect sync with the screeching sound of the discharged phaser which stunned the Klingon into unconsciousness.

"You all right, Vulcan?" said an Andorian with a black band wrapped around his left arm.

"Yes," said T'Pol.

The Andorian looked at his two fellows, both Humans, and said, "Drag Ebress to the drunk tank. I'll wait for you here."

"Right, Sergeant," said the shorter Human, and the Andorian made his way to the bar.

"Thank you for your assistance," said T'Pol: she'd seen other Andorians walking about, and she'd watched them warily, though they'd made no moves to trouble her.

"Forget it, Vulcan," said the Andorian, waving the bartender over. "Ale, Kevis."

The bartender nodded, and laid a bottle of ale and two shot glasses atop the bar.

"Drink, Vulcan?" said the Sergeant.

"Thank you," said T'Pol, not craving the liquor, but wanting an excuse to keep talking to the Andorian.

The sergeant filled two shot glasses, and clinked glasses with T'Pol before they both pounded their shots.

"Don't worry about Ebress, the Klingon," said the Andorian. "He's just drunk, and he's screwing around, but he's pretty harmless."

"He's not the first Klingon I've seen," said T'Pol. "What are they doing here?"

"Former Orion slaves, rescued by the Bands," said the Andorian. "Unlike some of the rest, they don't require persuasion or duress to remain here. It's an honor thing. They want to repay their debt, and fighting the Gorn, who've already attacked the Klingon Empire, is an honorable way to discharge that debt as the Klingons see things."

"I see," said T'Pol. "I am T'Pol."

"Dalsenn," said the Andorian, pouring them each another shot.

They pounded their shots, and T'Pol studied the Andorian closely.

"You do not seem to resent me for my species, Dalsenn," said T'Pol. "That surprises me."

Dalsenn gave a snort, and said, "The Gorn have already killed your world, and I fear they mean to add Andoria to that list, Vulcan. So I have no problem with you - I have bigger fish to fry."

"I see," said T'Pol.

"You're new here," said Dalsenn, giving T'Pol a shrewd glance.

"Yes, I am."

"Why are you here, T'Pol?"

"I came to join the Bands."

"Which one?" said Dalsenn.

"I do not care," said T'Pol. "Is there a difference?"

"Yes, there is. We all work against the Gorn, T'Pol," said Dalsenn, "but there's no central authority, and the Bands tend to specialize in different things.

"For example, Pagans and Vagos tend to focus on raiding Orion space, capturing ships and supplies, freeing slaves in return for their service in the Bands, or here on Delta Vega for a time, while The Breed avoids combat, focusing almost exclusively on gathering intelligence in Hegemony space. Then you have the Gypsy Jokers, and they're closely associated with The Breed, but they go out of their way to salvage hardware, weapons and such: they've even brought in a whole Gorn cruiser gutted by the Tholians, and the technical scans they're taking of that ship are being shared with all.

"Then you have the Coffin Cheaters and they make a habit of attacking the Gorn, regardless of the odds, and so on, T'Pol. Of our own Bands, the Andorians, we focus mainly on combating the Gorn, but we won't take a Vulcan aboard our ships, though we've buried our grievances with your kind on my Emperor's orders. So you have seventeen Bands in all, twelve of which are a possible fit for you."

"I see," said T'Pol. "Well, I want to join a Band which combats the Gorn directly, Dalsenn. Perhaps those Coffin Cheaters. Can you help me?"

"Not now," said Dalsenn. "No one knows where the Coffin Cheaters are at the moment, though I know that they're out there looking for the Gorn even as we speak. They'll return eventually to resupply, or perhaps they won't. Who knows. Those damned Gorn are nasty fighters."

"I see," said T'Pol. "So who is here now?"

"The Breed is here now, will be here for another ten days, but as I said, they focus on gathering intelligence, not combat," said Dalsenn. "Gypsy Jokers are here too, given their association with The Breed, but they don't fit the bill, since you're looking for direct combat. Mongols are here, and they combat the Gorn directly, but they leave tonight, and I'm not sure they'll take you on such short notice. I can put you in touch with someone though, see if they'll take you."

"I would appreciate that," said T'Pol. "Anyone else?"

"Black Uhlans come in sometime this week," said Dalsenn.

"Black Uhlans?"

"Named after one of Earth's light cavalry units," said Dalsenn. "You know, lances, sabers, horses. Anyway, they've been out there for five weeks, and they'd fit your bill in spades, T'Pol."

"Why is that?"

"The Black Uhlans hunt in Hegemony space, T'Pol," said Dalsenn. "They go deeper in than any other Bands, save The Breed, acting on intelligence produced by that Band. The Uhlans should have been dead a hundred times over, but their leader's either a lucky son of a bitch, or he's damned good… probably a bit of both. They're one of the larger Bands too, so they're likely to have a spot for you, if the Mongols don't take you in."

T'Pol felt instinctively drawn to the Black Uhlans, but the Mongols were here now.

"Can we try the Mongols, now?" said T'Pol, momentarily distracted by the return of Dalsenn's two henchmen.

"Sure," said Dalsenn, and the Andorian drew out a comm unit: he spoke in the unit, leaving a voice message for someone, then handed his comm unit to T'Pol. "Keep this, see if Cavazos calls back. Might not, given the million things he's got to deal with before departing for another run, but keep it anyway. If you're still here at midnight, come back here. I'll see you have a place to sleep tonight. Now I have to make my routes again."

"Thank you, Dalsenn," said T'Pol.

* * *

"T'Pol," said Dalsenn the next day, as the Vulcan was led into his office the next day. "How did you sleep?"

"Very well, thank you," said T'Pol, for though the accommodations which Dalsenn had arranged for T'Pol the previous night were built inside a shipping container, they'd been quite comfortable, if spartan.

"Good," said Dalsenn. "You all right? You seem kind of agitated."

"Yes, I am fine," said T'Pol, shamed by her lack of discipline… the Trellium had robbed her of so much, even on a personal basis. "I am just eager to find a place with the Black Uhlans."

Dalsenn nodded, for he'd learned the previous night that the Mongols left Delta Vega without contacting T'Pol, and said, "Black Uhlans checked in an hour ago. They'll be here five days from now. Until then, you're working with me, if you're looking for something to do."

"I am," said T'Pol. "Thank you."

Dalsenn nodded, for though he had no need of T'Pol's help, it was clear that the Vulcan was alone and somewhat lost, and a bit of work to focus her mind might do her some good.

* * *

Five days passed, and T'Pol busied herself working with Dalsenn's Security squad, but eventually, the call she'd waited for finally came.

"T'Pol," said Dalsenn, speaking into his comm unit. "Where are you?"

"Level 5, Dalsenn," said T'Pol. "Ellis and I are about to check out an accusation that Madlow's table is running a crooked game."

"Let Ellis check that out on his own," said Dalsenn. "Drop what you're doing, and come to my office."

"On my way," said Dalsenn.

Ten minutes later T'Pol walked into the Andorian's office, and Dalsenn pointed towards the wall mounted video monitor, which was currently showing a view of Delta Vega's orbit.

"Black Uhlans are pulling in," said Dalsenn.

Interested, T'Pol studied the monitor, noting hundreds of ships assuming orbit round Delta Vega, and though the ships were of all different classes, and built by at least a half dozen species, each ship was painted a glossy black, with a variety of color highlights and stripes… it was the only Band she'd seen so far, save The Breed, in which every ship shared a common color palette. Seemed kind of wasteful though, given the circumstances.

"They import paint, just to make a fashion statement?" said T'Pol.

"No," said Dalsenn. "The Uhlans' leader is… was an engineer, and he synthesized that paint from some of the rocks found on Delta Vega. From what I've been told, that black sheathing gives their ships an edge in avoiding sensor detection out there, and it looks damned good to boot."

"I suppose," said T'Pol. "Which is his ship?"

"That one," said Dalsenn, walking up to the monitor and tapping his finger on a huge black Suurok class Vulcan cruiser, with a thin red racing stripe. "The Tek'Xzen. Crew is two thirds Vulcan, one third Human, or close to it, with a few other species sprinkled in. Would be a good ship for you, but the Uhlans have a higher percentage of Vulcans than most Bands, so you should be all right anywhere in that Band."

"Who commands that Band?"

"A Human named Tucker," said Dalsenn.

"Can you get me a meeting with that man now?"

"You sure you don't want to stay here? Work for me?" said Dalsenn. "You've been an asset, T'Pol."

"I am certain, Dalsenn," said T'Pol. "I've enjoyed working with you, but you understand. What the Gorn did to Vulcan..."

"I do understand, T'Pol," said Dalsenn, and left it at that.

"So can you speak to Tucker, Dalsenn? Call in a favor, put in a good word for me?"

"I don't know Tucker well enough to call in favors, T'Pol," said Dalsenn. "In any case, he won't meet with you now. The Uhlans have lots to do, supplies and munitions to take on board, information to share, etc… They'll eventually start showing up here on Echo One, getting drunk and cutting loose. That's when we find Tucker. I'll point him out to you, and you make your pitch."

"Yes, very well," said T'Pol. "Thank you, Dalsenn."

"You gonna be all right?" said Dalsenn, giving T'Pol a grin, for it was clear that the Vulcan was barely restraining her eagerness.

"Yes, yes of course, Dalsenn," said T'Pol, and Dalsenn snorted his amiable derision.

"All right. Get back to work, and I'll keep an eye out for Tucker."

"As you say, Dalsenn."

* * *

As it turned out, waiting calmly was next to impossible for T'Pol, and the Vulcan resorted to haunting Dalsenn like a wraith, constantly fixing the Andorian with meaningful glances, but Dalsenn was tolerant of T'Pol, assuring her that eventually Tucker would show… he was just taking care of business now. And sure enough, four days later, T'Pol got the call from Dalsenn.

"T'Pol."

"Yes, Dalsenn."

"Did I wake you?"

"No," said T'Pol.

"I was doing the rounds," said Dalsenn, "and came across Tucker."

"Where?" said T'Pol.

"He's at Thibodeaux's now," said Dalsenn.

"On my way, Dalsenn."

A few minutes rush to get dressed, another ten minutes of rushing through the space between her quarters and Thibodeaux's, but T'Pol eventually passed beneath Thibodeaux's crest of arms: two chicken drumsticks flanking a crayfish holding up a boudin sausage. Ridiculous!

Despite the crest of arms, Thibodeaux's was more than just a restaurant. Matter of fact the place was built in a cavernous warehouse, the restaurant and bar taking up just one third the space: the rest of it was taken up by a small dance floor, and then a much larger section which hosted various games of chance and skill, for gambling was big on Delta Vega… not surprising really, given that these crews gambled with their lives on a regular basis.

"Ah, T'Pol," said Dalsenn, as the Vulcan stepped up. "You made good time."

"Indeed," said T'Pol, looking about the place, for presumably, Dalsenn had the good sense to keep Tucker in his line of sight. "Where is Tucker?"

"Corner booth," said Dalsenn, indicating direction with a lift of his chin, though a number of people now stood between them and the corner booth. "Go get him, girl."

Without further delay, T'Pol moved from Dalsenn's side in order to work her way through the room, and stand before Captain Tucker's table.


	5. Chapter 5

— **Chapter 05 —**

* * *

T'Pol was uncertain on what to expect as she came to stand before Captain Tucker's table, but the Vulcan now faced three men sharing a booth and an ice bucket with three bottles of Andorian ale. The man closest to T'Pol was a cheerful Denobulan, and T'Pol dismissed him at once: Dansenn had said that Captain Tucker was a Human. The man across from the Denobulan was a neat, slender man, with the quietly watchful look of a well fed hawk. A definite possibility. The third man, seated in the middle, was studying his PADD(personal access data device) unit when T'Pol stepped up to the table, and he continued studying it even as T'Pol came to a quick decision: he was the one.

"Captain Tucker," said T'Pol, remembering herself for once, and standing at attention with a poise which belied the agitation in her mind.

"Yes?" said the man, sliding his PADD unit in a vest pocket, and finally facing the Vulcan.

T'Pol studied the man's face for clues of his personality, analyzing the Human with V'Shar trained instincts…

Tucker had a three day growth of stubble, so he was either growing a beard, or he'd been too busy to shave: that told her nothing. The man's blue eyes were bright, and attractive, but they were cold just now, a chill which contrasted with the laugh lines on the man's face. He was in a bad mood now, but that was not always the case. His hands drew T'Pol's attention now: they were elegant, and strong, even as his body was fit, and with that, T'Pol realized that she found the man attractive… that in itself was an unusual realization, for T'Pol had not chosen her partners on the basis of attraction, but rather malfunction, since Vulcan's death… since her failure.

"Do you have something to say to me, or not?" said Tucker, and to her chagrin T'Pol realized she'd been staring at the man for a time, like a complete dolt.

"Ah… yes," said T'Pol. "I would like to have a few words with you, Captain Tucker."

"So go ahead," said Tucker.

"In private, Captain Tucker," said T'Pol.

"The Denobulan to my right is Doctor Phlox, the man to the left is Captain Reed. They're both the very soul of discretion."

"Even so, Captain Tucker," said T'Pol.

"I think we should oblige the lady," said Phlox, grabbing a chilled bottle and glancing at Reed. "Captain Reed? Some shots at the bar?"

"Sure," said Reed, and within seconds T'Pol had Tucker to all to herself.

She looked about now… Vulcan protocol dictated she stand to make her request of the captain, but the place was too noisy. She'd have to shout in order to be heard, and that was undignified. Tucker solved the problem by gesturing that T'Pol should take the Denobulan's place, and that was indeed a much better vantage point for T'Pol's purpose, if a somewhat informal seating arrangement.

"Make it quick," said Tucker, inadvertently gazing at the Vulcan's kissably plump lips for a time.

"My name is T'Pol," said the Vulcan, blushing a touch, for she'd noticed the captain's focus on her lips. "I have come to join the Black Uhlans, and I ask your favor… I ask that you accept me as a member of your Band, Captain Tucker."

There was no need for Tucker to ask why… every Vulcan had a reason to fight the Gorn, so the man merely gazed in the Vulcan's eyes, and asked, "What skills do you possess?"

"To use your Human conventions, I have a doctorate in physics, and years of field experience serving aboard various ships in the Vulcan Navy," said T'Pol. "My last assignment was serving as a Deputy Science officer, on a sister ship to your own, Captain. I know this class of cruiser quite intimately."

"Very nice," said Tucker, "but I already have people with your qualifications."

"That should not disqualify me, Captain Tucker," said T'Pol, giving a slight frown, for she was beginning to suspect that things were not sailing smoothly. "If you have no need for my skill set now, assign me other tasks which need doing. I am a quick study."

"You're also one of the Afflicted," said Tucker, a term the Humans used for the damaged survivors of Vulcan, and T'Pol granted that it was more polite than saying, one of the insane. "The Breed took on an Afflicted crewman as a Comm officer, some two months back, while on a reconnaissance mission. The Breed relies on stealth, so their ships are optimized for stealth, over combat, and yet the idiot began broadcasting a challenge over every bandwidth at the most inopportune time, giving away The Breed's position, all in order to fight the Gorn. The Breed lost five ships because of that fool. I don't need those kind of headaches in my fleet, T'Pol."

"Captain Tucker, I assure you—"

Just then a man came up to their table, and said, "Trip, we need to talk. I've got the info you were seeking, but I can't stay long."

Upon hearing those words Tucker began sliding out of the booth, and T'Pol could feel herself losing everything.

"Captain Tucker, please!" said T'Pol, gazing into the man's ice blue eyes.

She'd drawn closer to the man and actually grabbed hold the captain's forearm, which was quite rude by Vulcan mores, yet even at that most inopportune time, T'Pol could not help but notice the man's highly agreeable scent: it was subtle, but pleasing, for the man's own scent blended nicely with some man made scent, some type of soap.

"Try the Vagos, T'Pol," said Tucker, his hand gently grasping T'Pol's in order to free his forearm from the Vulcan's grip. "They'll be on Delta Vega in a few weeks, and their mainstay is raiding the Orions. They'll take you on, because the stakes in facing the Orions are nowhere as high as in facing the Gorn."

With that, the man left, leaving T'Pol in a hateful mood, feeling about as worthless as she'd ever felt… for some reason, his rejection stung more than all the others put together, but T'Pol resolved not to take a no from this man. One way or another, she'd join the Uhlans! Captain Tucker could make a bet on that fact!

And as T'Pol focused on her purpose, she unconsciously caressed her face with the hand which the captain had just grasped, and her keen sense of smell, so much sharper than a Human's, savored the man's scent long after he'd departed from her side.

* * *

The next night, T'Pol saw her chance to advocate her position once more. One of Dalsenn's men, knowing T'Pol's desires, told the Vulcan that Tucker was back at Thibodeaux's. Not surprising really, since they put out some of the best food on Delta Vega, and their liquor stocks were the best by far.

Sure enough, T'Pol found the man at the bar, deep into a bottle of sake, his second by the look of it, and T'Pol approached him with a determined stride. She'd make the man see logic now, reason with him, force him to see her worth, force him to accept her… but she soon realized that reason would not rule this evening: the man was already buzzed, which meant that her fine points of logic would likely pass him by. Regardless, T'Pol stepped up to the bar, right next to Tucker, and turned her body towards the man. She looked at him directly, and raised a brow.

"T'Pol," said Tucker, with a charming smile, confirming her initial impression of the previous day: it was a winning smile indeed. "T'Pol the Vulcan. The Afflicted. The Determined."

"Yes," said T'Pol. "I am all that, Captain Tucker, and I still say that you need me."

"Oh, yeah?" said Tucker. "Why the hell do I need you, T'Pol?"

"Because, Captain Tucker. Because," said T'Pol, not best pleased by Tucker's question. "Now, I hope to hear that you've reconsidered my plea, and found it agreeable. You need me, and I need you… that is to say, I need the Uhlans."

Tucker gestured to the bartender, then asked the man for another shot glass, and soon after topped off two glasses.

"A drink, T'Pol," said Tucker.

"I am not much of a drinker," said T'Pol.

"But you are a junkie, T'Pol," said Tucker, studying T'Pol shrewdly. "I recognize the signs."

T'Pol's first instinct was to deny, deny, deny, for addiction was a shameful thing among Vulcans, but she resolved to be nothing but candid with this man… if he was testing her, and she lied, he would have more reason to dismiss her pleas.

"I was," said T'Pol. "I flushed everything I had down the toilet, just minutes before I set foot on Delta Vega, and though I've been struggling, my addiction is psychological, not physical, and I am beating it. I swear it, Captain Tucker."

"Mmm, hmmm," said Tucker, and T'Pol had the feeling that she had indeed just been tested.

It was odd. For some reason she could read this Human better than most, though that wasn't saying much… they were all so easy to read, the way they allowed their emotions free rein… on the other hand, this Tucker had a fairly good poker face when he tried, but she could still read him easily.

"Well, that's fair enough, I suppose," thought T'Pol. "He reads me easily enough."

With that Tucker raised his glass, and T'Pol did the same, in order to ingratiate herself to the captain, and they pounded the shot, and then another, and then one more, and T'Pol had found the chilled liquor quite tasty.

"I like your honesty, T'Pol, but the answer's still no."

T'Pol studied the man's face, as if trying to solve a puzzle, and then she had it. She'd have had it sooner in private, but here, with the noise, the distractions, the people pressing on each other, a thousand scents inter-mingling… but the captain's pupils were dilated, and his scent, or rather the scent of his arousal, was singing out like a distinct note, and an alluring one at that, for the Vulcan olfactory sense was quite keen. With that T'Pol breathed in deeply, deliberately, and the Vulcan found the scent invigorating… and for the second time, in two days, T'Pol felt the stirrings of genuine arousal. The other men she'd given herself to for the longest time had been acts of purposeful self-destruction, but this was something else… and if bedding this man would please them both, and help her secure a berth with the Black Uhlans, well, there wasn't much room for debate.

"Come," said T'Pol, tugging gently on the man's arm. "You need to lay down, before you pass out."

"I'm not drunk, T'Pol," said Tucker, but he allowed himself to be led out of Thibodeaux's, and back to T'Pol's place. "I'm fine."

The man proved the truth of his words soon enough, back in T'Pol's humble quarters. She'd expected the man to pounce on her once she'd stripped, but instead he toyed with her a while, until it was T'Pol herself who did the pouncing, and when they tangled in each other the man more than held his own. At the end of their bout it was T'Pol who fell back onto the mattress, looking up at the metal ceiling, feeling spent, but exhilarated… and when she looked at Tucker, the man was already sleeping off the booze, so T'Pol turned off the dim night light, and nestled into the man's side to sleep a bit herself. He woke twice during the night, and woke the light sleeping Vulcan as well, as he yawned and stretched… and then he took her each time, or she took him, depending on how one scored such things. He woke a third time at 0700, dressing briskly for there was no shower built into T'Pol's quarters, just the communal showers down the hall.

"Morning," said Tucker, as he slipped a shirt over his head.

T'Pol nodded, then simply raised brow.

"No," said Tucker, understanding her meaning. "Nothing has changed. We had a good time—"

"A good time?!"

"A great time," said Tucker, wisely amending his previous statement, "but that's it."

"Why not? Give me one good reason!"

"Because I said so," said Tucker, and with that the man made his departure, paradoxically leaving the Vulcan frustrated… and satisfied.

* * *

The next five nights were a delicious repeat of that first encounter, though to her ever lasting frustration, those nights brought T'Pol no closer to a place in the Black Uhlans than the first, and that was a concern, for the Uhlans were departing Delta Vega in three days… and then fortune smiled on T'Pol, at long last, when four Uhlans got into a fight with some of The Breed in Thibodeaux's over some questionable moves at one of the gambling tables, and Dalsenn's team boarded Tek'Xzen, Captain Tucker's flagship, to arrest those men, for all of the Bands had agreed to invest enough authority in Delta Vega's Security offices to keep the peace on that world.

And so it was that Dalsenn, along with six of his officers, including the temporary team member, T'Pol, boarded Tek'Xzen to pick up their charges. The officers waited in the Shuttle Bay, while Dalsenn and T'Pol rode the turbo-lift for the Bridge, for Captain Tucker wished to see evidence his men were involved in the fracas, before turning them over.

"You sure about your plan, T'Pol?" said Dalsenn with a grin. "Tucker won't be happy with you when he finds you."

"He will get over it," said T'Pol, even as the lift came to a stop three decks below the Bridge. "Thank you for everything, Dalsenn."

"Good luck, T'Pol," said the Andorian, and with a last nod, T'Pol exited the lift, to lose herself among Tek'Xzen's crew.

* * *

"Yeah," said Tucker, studying the video file which Dalsenn had brought with him, "that's them. You can have everyone but Samuels, Dalsenn. He's my Tactical officer, and I need him out there. I'll send him to your brig during our next call to Delta Vega."

"All right," said Dalsenn, for he had no mechanism to enforce his will if a Band's captain denied his arrest warrants, and what's more, Dalsenn was willing to bow to necessity, and efficiency in dealing with the Gorn took precedence over a legal irregularity.

"Sorry for the hassle, Dalsenn," said Trip, and he handed the Andorian three gambling chips worth 1,000 credits each, as compensation for the man's understanding.

Greasing the wheels was common on Delta Vega, and though Dalsenn couldn't enforce his will, he could have raised a stink about the matter, and the Andorian's understanding served everyone best… that Dalsenn's stipend was augmented somewhat for his understanding was irrelevant: this wasn't StarFleet.

"Thanks," said Dalsenn, pocketing the chips.

"A drink before you leave?"

"Sure," said Dalsenn.

Dalsenn and Tucker polished off a half bottle of Andorian ale, while discussing the state of things on Delta Vega, and among the Bands… easy enough, given that Tucker got along with Andorians quite easily, and before it was all over with, Tucker had accepted a dinner invitation from Dalsenn to Delta Vega's best Thai restaurants, for Andorians loved spicy foods.

* * *

As for T'Pol, given her background with the V'Shar, she'd had no difficulty finding a stash of Vulcan uniforms aboard this ship, after which she accessed the ship's computer for non-essential services, and found an empty room… a brief stop by one of the three Mess Halls aboard the Tek'Xzen, and then T'Pol headed for her new quarters… she just have to hunker down here for the next three days, until the Black Uhlans left Delta Vega, and headed into Hegemony space, and despite the certainty that Captain Tucker would not be pleased by her unmitigated gall to stow away on his ship, T'Pol was, for the first time in five years, smugly self-satisfied, and yes damn it, she was happy!

The next three days were no hardship on T'Pol… she hunkered down in her new quarters, accessed the ship's multimedia library, browsed the ship's intranet to bring herself up to speed on all things Tek'Xzen, and still managed to sneak out a few times, hit the nearest Mess Hall and score a bit of something to nibble on through the days and the nights. Eventually, the clock ran out, and the Black Uhlans left Delta Vega, but T'Pol waited three more days, just to make certain the Uhlans were far enough from Delta Vega that an angry Captain Tucker would not bundle her in a rug, and ship her back to Delta Vega.

Eventually that clock ran out, and T'Pol hacked her way into the system once more, where she assigned herself a menial job in the kitchens, the midnight shift which saw to prep work… that should keep her out of sight, out of trouble, and if the chance came for her to serve the Uhlans in a more meaningful capacity, T'Pol resolved to be ready, but until then she'd serve the ship as best as possible.

It was a brilliant plan, it really was, and it would have worked beautifully if Captain Tucker had not been born an inveterate late night snacker!


	6. Chapter 6

**— Chapter 06 —**

* * *

It was just bad luck, that's all it really was. The midnight shift crew in the ship's kitchens was the smallest, consisting of eight cooks, and a half dozen assistants, T'Pol among them, and they had two primary duties. Keep a stock of prepped meal trays and sweet snacks available for the night crew, as well as prep the kitchens for the daytime cooks, which meant lots of chopping and dicing, lots of baking, lots of cleaning… and there she was at 0300, T'Pol but briefly exposed as she rolled a small cart from the kitchens and into Mess Hall 2, for the Vulcan was tasked with restocking the snack trays with brownies, cookies, cake and donuts.

The Vulcan actually hummed as she worked, for T'Pol thought herself alone in the Mess Hall, and for the first time in five years she had a purpose, no matter how humble, and all seemed right with the world… just then, the electronic chirp of a PADD unit notified the Vulcan that she was not actually alone here, so T'Pol turned her head out of curiosity, and then promptly froze in place. There, at a table not twenty feet from her, partly concealed by a structural pylon, sat Captain Tucker, looking at T'Pol as if the man was seeing a ghost… and then the man lowered his head, pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and middle finger and sighed, which is when T'Pol moved.

"He has not recognized me," thought T'Pol, hoping against her worst fears, and the Vulcan spun the cart around, ready to scram for the safety of the kitchens… she'd almost made it too, when she heard Captain Tucker's voice.

"Freeze!"

T'Pol froze, and the Vulcan's heart beat a dangerous rhythm in her chest as she heard a chair scrape the floor, and then heard a series of steps. Soon, all too soon, T'Pol felt Captain Tucker next to her, felt the man's hand grasp her hair firmly and lift her down turned face, to his.

"Oh, Hasha!" thought T'Pol, white faced, and wide eyed, as she called out to one of Vulcan's Old Gods for aid in this moment… she'd imagined that she'd eventually be found out, but she'd never imagined that she'd be so terrified!

"Dalsenn told me you disappeared," said Tucker. "He said you headed back to Earth, but now I see that he lied to me, and I'm going to beat the shit out of him next time we cross paths… but you! What the hell are you doing here, T'Pol?!"

"I came to serve against the Gorn," said T'Pol, her voice faint even in her own mind, for Trellium had robbed her of her discipline.

"I told you that you have no place with the Uhlans!"

"It is my right to face the Gorn for what they have done to Vulcan," said T'Pol, her voice stronger now. "I will not be denied!"

"Apparently not," said Tucker, "since we're too far from Delta Vega to dump you into a shuttle and point you in that direction, but your life is going to be a misery from now on. Trust me on that, T'Pol."

"I trust you," said T'Pol, looking in the man's cold, angry, eyes: where was that charming smile now?

"He should be glad that I am here, at least a tiny bit," thought T'Pol, saddened that anger was the captain's reaction to her presence here: no matter, she had not come here to dally in the arms of a lover, but to face the Gorn!

Unfortunately, the man had been as good as his word, and before her shift was over, T'Pol was summoned to Chef's office.

"You've been a bad girl, T'Pol," said Chef with a smile.

The Human chef was one of the thousands of volunteers who'd cast their civilian life aside to serve the Bands, and he'd been picked by Captain Tucker for Tek'Xzen, right after the captain had tasted the man's cooking.

"How is that, Chef?"

"I have no idea," said Chef, "since I wasn't told the particulars, but the captain just blew up my comm line. You're to work double shifts in the kitchens, the nastiest jobs too… I'm sorry, T'Pol."

"No matter, Chef," said T'Pol. "I am glad to be of service."

The extra work was a blessing anyway, for T'Pol still struggled with the psychological symptoms of withdrawal, given that she battled an addiction which had consumed her the past three years, but now, thoroughly exhausted at the end of each day, it was all she could do to simply crawl to her bed, much less think of finding a source for the drugs to which she'd been addicted.

* * *

"Captain Archer is here, sir," said Admiral Forrest's secretary.

"Send him in," said Forrest, and a moment later Archer entered his office, surprised to find the Vulcan Ambassador, Soval, there as well.

"Come in, Captain," said Forrest. "Take a seat."

"Yes, Admiral," said Archer. "Good day, Ambassador."

"Captain," said Soval, and left it at that, for in truth, captain and ambassador were not overly fond of each other.

"All right, let's get to it," said Forrest. "Captain, we've gotten the latest batch of intelligence and hardware from our rogue Bands."

"We can hardly call them, 'our Bands', Admiral, given their rebellious attitude," said Soval. "We must find some way to bring them to heel, though I will admit that they are making themselves useful out there. But they would be even more useful if they acted under our direction."

"Well, that's been tried," said Archer, glad for the opportunity to rankle the Vulcan. "Perhaps we need an ambassador with your skills to rise to the challenge."

"Both EarthGov and my government apparently feel the same," said Soval, catching Archer a bit flat-footed.

"And that's where you come in," said Forrest. "The Enterprise will take Ambassador Soval to Delta Vega."

"I am certain that the Ambassador would rather take a Vulcan ship," said Archer, looking to Soval for confirmation.

"The decision is already made," said Forrest, "and I'm not asking for a favor, Captain. I'm giving you orders."

"Yes, sir," said Archer.

"Wonderful," said Soval, looking anything but pleased by the prospect of spending time with Archer on the Enterprise. "We leave tomorrow morning, Captain Archer. 0900 hours."

"Right," said Archer, resigning himself to ferrying Soval about the galaxy 'till the end of time.

Soon after, Soval excused himself, and then Forrest and Archer went over the latest booty coming from the Bands.

"The intelligence might be handy, if we intended to war against the Gorn Hegemony," said Forrest, "but EarthGov's president has not changed his mind. We'll do nothing, and hope the Gorn pass us by."

Archer nodded, understanding that line of reasoning, though he didn't particularly agree with it, but EarthGov's political caste was scared shitless by the brutality and speed of the Gorn expansion, and they hoped to simply hunker down and let the storm pass - thankfully, some common sense still remained within the bureaucracy, and EarthGov's military organization trained troops with a new intensity, even as each and every factory responsible for starship and weapons production ran round the clock. Already, construction had begun on seven new NX class ships, and four dozen lessor class Delus cruisers, to supplement the small fleet of in-system patrol ships already in operation in the Sol system. As for Archer, he might have gone with Trip to play a role in forming the Bands, he had the chance, but Archer's loyalty to StarFleet would not allow the man to take that step: between them both, Trip had always been the maverick.

"Now, although the president's decision binds our hands in acting against the Gorn, it doesn't bind the Bands, and apparently Trip's going to make use of that fact," said Forrest.

"How is that, Admiral?"

"Black Uhlans left Delta Vega for another run, but on the way back, they plan to swing back through Klingon space," said Forrest, "and Tucker's returning some Klingons which have finished their tour with him to Klingon space. He means to bid for an alliance between the Klingons and the Bands."

"That's appropriate," said Archer. "We should be doing such things on our own. To beat back the Gorn we'll need an alliance."

"Funny you should say that, Captain, because that's where you come in," said Forrest.

"Oh?"

"Once you drop Soval at Delta Vega, you're off for Tellar, then Denobula, with a missive from EarthGov, while Hernandez takes the Columbia to Risa, Regulus and Celes," said Forrest. "We're bidding for an informal alliance, which we hope to firm up after a bit of diplomacy. The president hopes we'll never have to fight for Earth, but if we do…"

"Got it," said Archer. "I'll do my best, sir."

"You'll have your orders by tomorrow morning, Captain," said Forrest, in a polite dismissal, and with that Archer stood, and left the room.

* * *

Ten days had passed since T'Pol had been discovered as a stowaway, and in that time T'Pol had been worked into a tizzy, her schedule arranged to have the Vulcan on duty from 0600 to 1800 hours, leaving T'Pol just six hours a day to clean up, eat, sleep and meditate and only Vulcan fortitude made that schedule even slightly tolerable. What was intolerable, was the captain's insistence that T'Pol take time out of her numerous chores to serve him his meals, which meant that three times a day, T'Pol trudged through Tek'Xzen's passageways in a rumpled and stained uniform, her hair frizzy from the heat, the steam and the sweat, all in order to wait upon his royal highness! It was outrageous!

Still, T'Pol pulled it off without seemingly being affected by it all, for her control had improved somewhat since stowing away on Tek'Xzen, whether that control came as a function of having a purpose, or simply kicking her drug habit: oh she still felt the craving, and several times she'd felt light headed, and once, badly nauseous and disoriented, but the Vulcan persevered… and all for this, thought T'Pol, as she finally reached the Captain's Ready Room. She braced herself for the captain's grin, for the man apparently took an inordinate amount of pleasure in torturing her.

"Captain," said T'Pol, entering the Captain's Ready Room, after announcing her presence. "Your dinner."

"Ah, thank you, T'Pol," said Trip, grinning at the Vulcan. "Here, set it on my desk."

T'Pol did as ordered, then stood at attention, her poised stance at odds with her slovenly appearance.

"How are you enjoying your new schedule?" said Trip with a wink.

"Just fine, Captain," said T'Pol… if the man was hoping for a plea for mercy, well he could just stuff it: she'd rather die, than give him the satisfaction!

"Mmm, hmmm," said Trip, lifting the lid off his mess tray: braised beef, mashed potatoes, roasted corn, a stir fried vegetable medley, two rolls, and a cup of lentil and sausage soup. "Looks good, T'Pol."

"Yes," said T'Pol, and left it at that.

"You know, I have my meals analyzed by the Science department, T'Pol," said Trip. "If they ever find Vulcan spit in my food, I'm lobbing you out into space through one of our torpedo tubes."

T'Pol said nothing, merely raised brow, then said, "I should return to the kitchens."

Trip nodded, and T'Pol moved for the door.

"Wait!" said Trip, catching T'Pol before she'd made it out the door. "My dessert? You know I need a sweet to polish off a meal."

"Oh," said T'Pol, then reached into an apron pocket to pull out two caramel brownies, wrapped in saran wrap. "Here we go."

"What the hell happened to them?" said Trip, looking askance at T'Pol. "They look like they took a beating."

"That is how they came out today," said T'Pol, lying through her teeth, for she'd jammed her knuckles into the brownies a time or two, before pocketing them earlier.

Trip looked skeptically and T'Pol, and the Vulcan knew that the man was onto her lies… but he couldn't prove anything.

"I don't have to prove anything," said Tucker, startling T'Pol, for he seemed to have anticipated her thoughts. "You bring me food like this, T'Pol, I've got to think about adding a couple more hours to your daily shift… so you can get things right."

"Yes, Captain," said T'Pol, biting her lip to stifle a sarcastic retort: the man was really pushing it!

"All right," said Tucker, dismissing T'Pol. "Carry on."

"Ah," said T'Pol at the last moment, hating herself for her weakness, "would you like me to bring you a late night snack this evening? In your cabin? We could idle away a few hours together."

"Are you kidding?" said Tucker, taking the Vulcan in at a glance. "Look at yourself, T'Pol. You're a mess!"

T'Pol gave the subtle eye roll of a put upon martyr, and said, "I will clean up nicely before coming by, Captain Tucker. In return you will have a bottle of chilled sake for us to share."

"I don't know, T'Pol," said Trip. "You're being punished for stowing aboard Tek'Xzen, and I'm not sure that being granted sexual release fits in with the punitive program I've laid out for you."

"Most people would say that sexual intercourse with you is a kind of punishment, Captain Tucker," said T'Pol, raising a brow in challenge. "So?"

Tucker snorted at T'Pol's jab, then said, "Fine. 2300 hours."

"Yes, Captain," said T'Pol, finally seeing a bright spot in her day.

"And be ready to rock and roll from the start, T'Pol. We won't be spending any time on foreplay tonight."

T'Pol nodded easily in understanding of that warning, for she was in a needy state herself, and hot, hard, rough and heavy seemed an agreeable way to spend the night. Better yet, the fact that she and Captain Tucker were in sync seemed a good omen for the coming festivities.

* * *

Trip yawned the next day on the Bridge, for that Vulcan wildcat had done her best to steal his soul the previous night with a fiercely passionate performance… it had been a close run, but he'd eventually wrenched a series of orgasms from his lover, along with a scream which must have awakened half the ship, after which they'd spent some time basking in the afterglow… later, she'd spoken of her mother, T'Les, and then she'd spoken of the day that Vulcan died, and she'd spoken of what she perceived as her failure to protect her people, and Trip merely listened, sensing that it was what T'Pol truly needed now, and eventually the Vulcan fell asleep. Trip hated to admit it, for he'd been annoyed at the Vulcan's method of joining the Uhlans, but it was undeniable... T'Pol was growing on him. Just a bit.

"Captain!" said Samuels, Tek'Xzen's Tactical officer, drawing Trip from his reverie.

Trip looked at Samuels, and the man sent his data stream to the ship's main Bridge monitor, displaying Gorn and Tholian ship signs on long range scanners: the two species were conducting a battle even now. Made sense too, for though this area of space was now held by the Gorn, it had been Tholian space until quite recently, and apparently the Tholians were not willing to just roll over for the Gorn.

"Time?" said Tucker, meaning how long to cover this distance while limited by the speed of our slowest ships.

"Three hours, Captain," said Samuels.

"Set Condition Yellow throughout the fleet, and transmit those coordinates to the Uhlans," said Tucker. "We leave on my mark."

"Yes, Captain."

* * *

By the time the Uhlans reached the battle site, the Tholians were in bad shape… see, not only was Gorn weaponry some of the best around, easily delivering 15% more throughput than Klingon weaponry, and 19/27% more so than Vulcan/Human weaponry, but the Gorn had an ace in the hole, a type of mass transporter beam which could transport a dozen Gorn aboard a ship, and a dozen Gorn could do a lot of damage before they were killed. They were a fucking nightmare to deal with, no doubt.

Still, there was no need for engraved invitations here, and the Uhlans promptly joined battle against the Gorn, sparking a new spirit of resistance among the Tholians, and before the hour was over, the Gorn were broken… not that it made a difference. The Hegemony seemed to have an endless supply of ships, and Gorn.

"Hail the Tholians," said Tucker.

"No answer," said the Comm officer.

The lack of response from the Tholians was not a surprise. Three Bands had been aided by the Tholians in the past six months, while battling against the Gorn, and yet the Tholians had never answered hails or messages of thanks, merely departing after the battle was concluded, and they did the same here, now, leaving the Uhlans in possession of the battlefield.

"Let's go," said Tucker, to the fleet at large. "Scan the debris, scoop up anything of interest."

Five hours later, tons of Gorn hardware, and a few dozen Gorn bodies were securely stowed away in the various holds among the Uhlans, as well as a good share of Tholian hardware, and even an entire ship, badly damaged though it was. It was all valuable to the Bands, and to the Human and Vulcan scientists and soldiers back on Earth, and although the Gypsy Jokers, dedicated hardware gatherers, would have taken days to conduct a more through search, what the Uhlans found was enough. Task accomplished, the Uhlans laid course deeper into Hegemony space.

The one bright spot from this encounter, for T'Pol at least, came through misfortune for a fellow Vulcan, S'Tresk, who manned the Science station on Tek'Xzen. In the middle of the firefight, S'Tresk had begun coughing and spraying blood all over his station, and by the time a medical squad had showed up on the Bridge to ferry S'Tresk to Medical, that Vulcan was in bad shape… it was a bad ulcer, brought about by stress, and with that, S'Tresk's time with the Uhlans was at an end. He'd done his fair share, but the man had been a research scientist in his former life, and he wasn't cut out for this sort of life. Which worked out for T'Pol just fine.

"You've got your shot, T'Pol," said Trip, later that day. "You're Science on the Bridge starting tomorrow. Don't screw it up."

"I will not, Captain," said T'Pol, feeling stronger than she'd felt in years. "Gratitude."


	7. Chapter 7

— **Chapter 07 —**

* * *

For twelve days after departing the Tholian/Gorn battlefield, the Black Uhlans drove ever deeper into Hegemony space, moving like wraiths as far as the Gorn were concerned, nothing but ghosts in the Hegemony's sensor nets.

To that end, they were aided by two things: one, a particular force field shrouding wrapped about the warp nacelles in a most painstaking process, an energetic shrouding which muted the energy emitted by these shielded nacelles to a mere fraction of unshrouded nacelles and warp rings. This first manipulation came courtesy of The Breed, for that Band's focus on stealth had produced this particular innovation of known technology after some innovative thinking and a great deal of trial and error.

The second aid had come courtesy of Captain Tucker, and took the form of the glossy, ceramic sheath laid on like paint atop the hulls of each and every Uhlan ship. This sheathing absorbed, rather than bounced back, the energy waves which played a crucial role in sensor net technology, and if the combination of these two technologies did not quite equal the effectiveness of a Romulan cloaking device, for it provided no defense against visual detection, it was still a great advantage in both a tactical and a strategic sense.

Even now these two technologies were spreading gradually through the Bands, but at this point in time only The Breed and Black Uhlans had 100% compliance with this standard of stealth, and so only these two Bands ventured deeply in Hegemony space… and even now, as the Uhlans moved through Gorn territory, they spread out, 217 ships creating a sensor net some 80 lightyears wide, all in search of Gorn ship signs.

Eventually, Squadron 59 bit on something, and shortly afterward, that squadron's leader broadcast a call to the rest of the fleet… slowly, the widely dispersed Uhlans came together over the course of the next forty hours, all converging on Squadron 59, who'd detected a Gorn combat wing of 44 battle cruisers, all headed for Tholian space, and even as the Uhlans drew ever closer to the Gorn, phaser rifles were passed out to all crewmen in order that they might supplement ship's security forces, for the nasty habit of Gorn transporting inside enemy ships meant combat, and no one wanted to face those fucking reptiles in hand to hand combat: one sight of a man's skull bitten cleanly in half like a ripe melon, or another, disemboweled by Gorn claws, was all it took to foster a deep appreciation for ranged energy weapons in all species, save the Klingon.

And now, with just hours to go before the Uhlans made contact with the Gorn, the tension was palpable. T'Pol certainly felt it at her station on the Bridge, the Vulcan ready to bounce off the bulkheads now, though as yet, her agitation was betrayed only by overly rapid movements, fast turns of the head, breathless verbal responses made a bit too rushed, and all this agitation an after effect of the Trellium poisoning.

But then, just as the Vulcan felt as if she were about to float from her seat, or make a scene on the Bridge, Captain Tucker turned his head and fixed T'Pol with an extended glance… and just like that T'Pol felt as if the man had pierced and deflated her runaway mood, grounding her quite remarkably, and just then, as if the man could sense sobriety taking hold the Vulcan once more, the captain turned his attention back to the PADD unit in his hands, surveying the readiness reports from the fleet at large.

Back at her station, T'Pol's mind raced, flailing to understand her physiological response to the captain's glance: it must have been a response born of fear, the fear of dismissal from the Uhlans… what else could it have been?

* * *

The battle, when it came, was about what one who'd tangled with the Gorn before would expect. Rather than attempt to flee a numerically superior foe, the Gorn made way for the Uhlans the moment they'd detected the Human fleet, and they came in blasting, even as the Uhlans dispersed, like a large pack of hyenas dancing round a pride of lions, always seeking the flanks, utilizing harassment tactics to keep a deadlier foe at bay, even as the Uhlans worked to slowly sap the Gorn's strength away.

The superior Uhlan numbers was an asset here, as weakened and damaged ships could safely fall back to conduct repairs, while fresh ships took their place on the line, even as each and every Uhlan poured a stream of fire into the massed Gorn ships. It was a tactic the Uhlans had practiced often since they'd formed around Charles Tucker, just as the Gorn themselves had practiced their boarding tactics, which worked in concert with the battle maneuvers of their ships… when it was all said and done, the 44 Gorn ships were gutted, their crews dead, even as 94 Uhlan ships were damaged to one degree or another, and 259 Uhlan crewmen lay wounded or dead.

Still, as such things went, this counted as a success for the Uhlans - the failures were much nastier, but all that was par for the course when fighting the Gorn. Strangely enough, the Gorn seemed careless over the loss of life among their kind, or the loss of ships… and that made no sense, for logistics were the sinews of war, yet it was something which had been frequently observed by other Bands, yet never explained, for as always, the Gorn were an enigma.

One unexpected bonus from this day's battle came from the capture of a still living Gorn, found in the wreckage of a Gorn ship… that in itself was not unique, for that had happened before, but the unusual thing about this Gorn was that it was what the Bands termed a Priest-King, for lack of a true designation. Now these Priest-Kings were noticeably different from the other Gorn - taller, stronger, colored a much brighter green than the typically washed out, matte colored Gorn, and each Priest-King wore a broad gold band around their left forearm. That these specimens held some deep significance among the Gorn was undeniable, for the lesser Gorn always protected them with a suicidal disregard for their own lives, and now the Uhlans had a Priest-King of their own, to interrogate.

It was interesting, for just five others had been found before, all dead, and though genetic studies had not detected any meaningful difference between Priest-Kings and the lessor Gorn, they were special somehow. That this one was alive made it invaluable.

* * *

"Don't kill it. I want that thing secured right fucking now," said Tucker calmly from the Bridge, as he viewed the video coming from the Uhlan boarding party, and the image of the stunned Gorn.

A dozen Security men jumped to carry out the captain's bidding, securing the Gorn's hands behind its back with plassteel bands, even as its clawed feet were bound the same way. The entire time, a half dozen men armed with phasers set on stun stood ready to blast the Gorn again the moment it even twitched, or seemed about to regain consciousness.

"Got it secured, Captain," said Denning, the squad leader. "What now?"

"We'll beam that damned thing onboard," said Tucker, "and someone else will take it from there. You and your men, sweep what you can of that ship before you return to Tek'Xzen. Sensors don't show any more Gorn life signs, but be careful just the same."

"Yes, Captain," said Denning, turning his head just in time to witness the Priest-King's molecular deconstruction, as Tek'Xzen's transporter beam initiated transport.

* * *

"Tomassi reports that all is well, Captain," said T'Linze, Tek'Xzen's Comm officer. "The Priest-King is secured, and Dr. Phlox is examining it now."

"Good," said Trip, "I want that thing under constant surveillance."

T'Linze nodded, and relayed the Captain's orders, then moments later looked back at Tucker, ready to carry out the next series of orders.

"Ask Selkar to come to my Ready Room," said Tucker, "then get a status report from the fleet. We'll be here for days, repairing the damage we took, but I want status reports every three hours."

"Yes, Captain," said T'Linze.

Tucker nodded to T'Linze, glanced at the Tactical officer, then headed for his Ready Room - there was no need for orders - as the highest ranking officer on the Bridge, Tactical would automatically assume command.

Minutes later, Selkar reached the Bridge and then the captain's Ready Room, even as T'Pol wondered what Selkar and the captain were discussing. Eventually, Selkar made his departure, yet still no sign of the captain on the Bridge, and curiosity eventually drove T'Pol to seek the man out in her turn.

"Come," said Trip, in response to the chime which announced a visitor.

An instant later, the door slid aside, and T'Pol stepped inside the captain's Ready Room.

"What's up, T'Pol?"

T'Pol took a chair when the captain made a gesture towards that item of furniture, then said, "I have heard that the Bands have captured Gorn before, but everyone seemed excited by the capture of this specimen. In my capacity as Science on the Bridge, I was wondering, why the excitement?"

"These Priest-Kings are somehow superior to the standard Gorn," said Tucker. "We suspect that the Priest-Kings lead the Gorn."

"And so?"

"And so I mean to have Selkar mind-probe the damned thing," said Tucker.

"Selkar?"

"He was associated with the V'Shar, in the past. A subcontractor if you will, brought in for just such tasks. This should be right up his alley," said Trip, for he was not aware of T'Pol's past, or her association with the V'Shar, else he'd have known his explanation was unnecessary.

T'Pol nodded, for she'd come across such freelancers before… some combination of genetics, environment and training granted strong psychic powers, seemingly at random, and the V'Shar had seen nothing illogical in making use of such talents.

"I understand," said T'Pol. "I served my time in the V'Shar, Captain."

"Really?" said Trip.

T'Pol nodded, waiting for the captain to say more, but the man merely looked at her.

"Captain?" said T'Pol. "Is there a problem?"

"No," said Tucker, and for once there was a sadness in his glance, and in his voice. "I just realize how much the Gorn have taken from you, personally."

T'Pol granted there was truth in the captain's words, and it bothered the Vulcan to be pitied for it only emphasized her currently debased state, but T'Pol lifted her chin and said, "But I am still here, Captain. I am not beaten yet."

"No, you're not beaten yet, T'Pol."

They passed a span of time in silence, with T'Pol avoiding the captain's glance, before she finally made eye contact with the man, and said, "May I attend that mind-probe? I would find it fascinating."

"All right," said Trip. "Selkar needs to meditate first, but I'll call you when he's good to go."

"Yes, Captain."

"Anything else?" said the captain.

"Ah, no," said T'Pol, for in truth she had her duties to attend to, but it just so happened that she took pleasure in being in the captain's presence… she found it soothing, found it pleasurable.

"Get it together, T'Pol! You are a soldier!" thought the Vulcan, chastising herself, even as she stood to leave the man's Ready Room.

She almost made it too, before the captain spoke: "T'Pol."

The Vulcan turned to face the captain.

"You did well out there, during the firefight, T'Pol," said Tucker.

T'Pol merely gave the man a slight nod in acknowledgment of the captain's compliment, but in truth, she felt extremely gratified… she could indeed contribute something, she could indeed atone, to some degree at least, for not being at her post when it had really counted.

* * *

It was hours later that the captain caught T'Pol's eye on his way off the Bridge, and motioned her to follow. A short wait for the turbo-lift to come, and T'Pol busied herself by studying the captain from the corner of her eye, for she wasn't certain what to make of the man at times… Human males were supposed to be susceptible to a sexual infatuation, yet Tucker showed no signs of that - when he bedded her, he bedded her well, wringing out every bit of pleasure he sought from her body, while easily returning what he took, but otherwise the man exhibited a public discipline which was quite admirable. Of course the captain was in command of a fleet, and probably realized that he could not afford to be seen pining away for a lover, but his control was still admirable… and truthfully, a bit irritating!

Just then, Tucker glanced down at T'Pol's face, and the man must have seen something amusing there, for he smirked at T'Pol.

"What," said T'Pol.

"Nothing," said Tucker, then exited the turbo-lift on Deck 4. "Come on."

A walk down a long passageway, then Tucker and T'Pol stepped through a door flanked by two armed guards, and once inside the holding cell T'Pol saw four more guards, all watching the Gorn carefully, and that beast was a monstrous sight to see, for T'Pol had never seen a Gorn like this, up close.

Frankly, it was a terrifying sight… this Gorn was easily eight feet tall, strongly built, far more than any of the scattered races which adhered to the humanoid template… it's forearms were the size of T'Pol's thighs, it's head, nearly the length of T'Pol's torso, it's clawed hands large enough to palm the Vulcan's head. T'Pol felt herself breaking out in a sweat, yet she also felt a strong desire to kill this thing slowly, with a blade, not a phaser. What they'd done to Vulcan…

Snapping out of it, T'Pol noted that Security had simply propped the Gorn up against a bulkhead then ran a plassteel strap across it's chest, each end attached to the bulkhead by strong magnets, after which they spread eagled the Gorn, securing each appendage in the same manner as the chest. Each plassteel strap was rated for 30,000lbs, and the magnets for 45,000lbs. This Gorn was going nowhere at all.

It was awake though, the Gorn, staring directly ahead, seemingly ignoring every person in this room, though that was probably a function of the fact that its head was secured to the wall with straps, even as another strap was fastened round its jaws.

"Get me a chair, Askal," said Tucker.

The Vulcan guard left the room, returning shortly with a chair, which Tucker plopped before the Gorn, studying the creature curiously, for this was his first look at a living Priest-King.

For her part, T'Pol was uncertain of protocol aboard a Human led vessel, and so she took a place to Captain Tucker's left, watching the Gorn intently, purposely suppressing her desire to kill the fucking thing on the spot. Thus they all waited in silence for a few minutes, until Selkar, the psychic, entered the room.

"Apologies, Captain," said Selkar. "Lost track of the ti—"

"I don't care," said Tucker. "We're recording the session, so let's get moving, Selkar."

"Right," said Selkar, and the room was silent for the next ten minutes, while Selkar touched the Gorn's face, quite carefully, despite the fact that the Gorn's jaws were tightly bound… in any case, Selkar sought out the psy-points on the creature's skull, and when he achieved a connection with the Gorn, that fact was obvious to all.

"Kill you all!" said Selkar loudly, though he was just picking up the creature's thoughts.

"Why?" said Tucker, addressing Selkar, for Tucker knew that he was not really communicating with the Gorn - rather, as he posed the questions, Selkar swam through the creature's consciousness for the answers held within, and then reported his findings.

"Nemesis is here! The Black Sun rises!"

"Elaborate," said Tucker.

Selkar was silent for the next few minutes, but no one minded the delay… an answer to the question as to why the Gorn had begun this wave of military aggression was important.

"Every thirty thousand years, Nemesis is visible from our planet, as galaxies spin round galaxies," said Selkar, "and it has a profound effect on our worlds. If Nemesis rises from beneath the south pole, we say the Red Sun rises, for Nemesis appears blood red, and drives the Gorn into the bloodiest of frenzies, a war of Gorn against Gorn, leaving only the fittest of my kind to survive and breed, thus strengthening the species. If Nemesis rises in the North, we see him as a Black Sun rising, and our aggression is directed outward… these cycles alternate, and are thus predictable."

"So this has happened before," said Trip, merely thinking out loud.

"For as long as my people can remember," said Selkar, for the Vulcan had perceived the statement as a question, and sought the answer from the Gorn's psyche. "Nearly every species within our reach has legends of dragons and other great reptiles. We are the source of those legends, for when we conquer worlds, we rend all things apart. Countless civilizations and species have fallen when the Black Sun rises… and as we leave chaos and destruction in our wake, we also leave behind the fittest survivors to reproduce in the aftermath, and thus our act of cosmic destruction is also a sacred act of creation."

It would be fair to say that everyone in that room was rocked… the information which Selkar had brought to light was unbelievable, but it had the ring of truth about it, and it would explain so much about the unexplainable string of once thriving cultures, inexplicably disappearing in the blink of an eye.

"So your attacks end only when you've left worlds smoldering in your wake?" said Trip, and T'Pol paled upon hearing her mat— the captain's words.

Selkar said nothing, but the Vulcan nodded his head.

"You've done well in your military campaigns so far, but you've also taken heavy losses, between the Klingons, the Tholians and us," said Trip. "You might not go as far as expected this time."

Here, the Gorn gave off an odd sound that sounded a mix of a gravelly laugh and a yelp, even as Selkar laughed in concert with the Gorn.

"What's so funny?" said Tucker.

"Nemesis comes as regular as clockwork, so we were ready for its coming," said Selkar. "Moreso, during the thousand years which precede its arrival, our breeding cycle accelerates far beyond the norm, and during that millennium, if we know the Black Sun rises, we build ships of war. There are more Gorn now, than there are stars in the universe, more ships than needed to accomplish our purpose."

Tucker looked at T'Pol and though both knew that the Gorn's words were an exaggeration, the numbers at hand must be frightening if the Gorn had prepped with this objective in mind for a millennium.

Tucker's comm unit beeped, calling the captain to the Bridge, but the man had one more question.

"Other than victory, will anything end your attacks on our worlds?" said Tucker.

A moment later, Selkar spoke, and said, "We retreat to Hegemony space, one way or another, when the Black Sun falls."

"And when is that?" said Tucker.

"Thirty-three years after the Black Sun rises, Nemesis departs, until the next cycle," said the Gorn.

Tucker mouthed a curse, for that meant they had twenty-eight more years of this threat to deal with… unless they could beat the Gorn. Tucker's comm unit beeped again, and the man turned to T'Pol.

"Take over here, T'Pol," said Tucker. "You and Selkar squeeze this thing for every scrap of information you think valuable. I want to see a transcript of your conversation at the end of it all, T'Pol."

"Yes, Captain," said T'Pol, knowing that the computer could generate that transcript from the recordings in a matter of minutes, and with that Tucker left the interrogation room.

* * *

Later than evening, Trip showered, put on some pajama bottoms, then sipped some hot Ceylon tea while waiting for his dinner. It came within twenty minutes: a Porterhouse steak with chef's rich mushroom sauce, roasted cauliflower, a baked potato and a salad - given his hunger, Trip made short work of it all in a half hour, and just as he'd set his now empty mess tray aside, a chime sounded, announcing a visitor.

"Come in," said Trip, and the door to his quarters slid aside on its tracks.

"I have the transcript of the Gorn's interrogation, Captain," said T'Pol, stepping within, and handing Trip a PADD unit.

"I appreciate it, T'Pol," said Trip. "I'm exhausted though. I'll read it tomorrow."

"Selkar and I will continue our interrogation until we've answered all possible questions," said T'Pol. "With your permission, of course."

"Granted," said Trip, yawning widely.

T'Pol nodded, and looked around the captain's cabin.

"It seems that you're about to turn in," said T'Pol, and Trip nodded. "Would you mind if I spend the night here? I feel fragile tonight, after seeing that thing up close."

"All right," said Trip.

He crawled in bed, while T'Pol showered, and by the time the Vulcan returned to the captain's side, he slept soundly. The Vulcan slipped under the covers, drawing closer to the man, and after a few moments of moving about and repositioning herself, T'Pol laid her head upon the captain's shoulder.

Her life had been a nightmare the past five years, yet now, after all that, T'Pol felt deeply contented, though as the Vulcan saw things, that happiness hung by a string: all it would take to ruin everything was a slip, a loss of control on her part, and that loss would surely bring about a dismissal from the Uhlans… and T'Pol was not certain that she would survive that dismissal, for she'd quickly grown accustomed to having a purpose once more.

More to the point, T'Pol was happy now… even before the Gorn, even when Vulcan still lived, T'Pol had been lonely and a loner, but now, her head resting on her mate's chest, feeling his heart beat… T'Pol sighed. It was probably best not to question her fortune, when her star was in ascension.


	8. Chapter 8

— **Chapter 08 —**

* * *

Trip woke early the next morning, and did nothing for a bit, savoring this quiet time, for it was about the only part of his day which he could truly call his own while on a mission. He turned his head in order to glance at the clock, and then stretched a bit… T'Pol, who'd been sleeping on her stomach 'till then, sensed movement, and the light sleeping Vulcan pushed her pillow aside, and looked at Trip. One could fairly apply a number of descriptive labels to T'Pol, but just now, her brown eyes clouded by sleep and barely opened, her hair tousled, and her breath whistling through partly congested nostrils, the Vulcan was just plain adorable.

"Trouble?" said T'Pol, her voice scratchy.

"No. Go back to sleep."

T'Pol promptly did a face plant into her pillow, falling asleep within seconds. She woke sometime later when the captain opened the door in order to take two covered food trays from his steward.

"Thanks, Martin."

"Quite welcome, Captain."

The captain closed the cabin door and looked towards T'Pol, noting that the Vulcan was already awake.

"Let's go, Princess," said Trip. "Breakfast."

T'Pol rose and headed, quite nude, for the small 4 top dining table in the captain's cabin, where Trip slid a mess tray towards T'Pol.

"If you don't like the selections I've made for you, I'll call for something else," said Trip.

Lifting the cover from the tray, T'Pol studied the captain's choices: a fresh butter croissant, split and stuffed with a thick slice of grilled halloumi cheese, soy bacon, sliced tomatoes and fresh basil. A deep plate of rice pudding with a ring of fresh mango slices artfully arranged along the plate's rim, and a large go-cup filled with hot Ceylon tea, sprinkled with powdered cardamom.

"Well?" said Trip.

"Oh," said T'Pol, licking her lips. "This is perfect."

Trip nodded, and dug into his own breakfast, and after a few minutes silence, T'Pol said, "So why do they call you Trip? Are you exceptionally clumsy?"

"Not now," said Trip. "It's a childhood nickname, T'Pol. When I was four, my father said that I could go fishing with him if I were dressed in two minutes. I was so excited, I ran for my bedroom, and fell three times in a row. Everyone called me Trip all day long, and the name just stuck."

"Amusing," said T'Pol… her own father had disappeared one day when she'd just entered 1st grade in school, and neither she, nor T'Les, learned anything more than the fact that he fell in the line of duty: his body had never been recovered.

"You look good," said Trip, chewing on his own croissant as he studied the Vulcan. "Focused. I worried you'd be unable to deal with the stress that's part and parcel of being here, after what you've gone through, but you're doing well."

"The sense of purpose and the discipline in the fleet helps. I feel stronger with each passing day," said T'Pol, then the Vulcan hung her head. "With each day that I'm with you, Trip."

Trip was about to answer T'Pol when his comm unit chimed, and such interruption at this time was unusual enough that Trip stood, kissed the back of T'Pol's neck, and took the call: one didn't ignore hails from the Bridge in Hegemony space.

* * *

It took four days to repair the majority of Uhlan ships damaged in the battle with the Gorn, though 6 ships had to be abandoned completely, and their crews dispersed among the fleet. During that time, Selkar, working in concert with Tucker and T'Pol pressed the Gorn relentlessly for information, though the process was losing efficiency, for Selkar was having a harder and harder time with the mind-melding process for some reason.

There was nothing to be done about it, for very few, if any people had ever mind-melded with a Gorn, and none that Selkar knew of, so there was no guidance to be had about this entire process. Unfortunately, Selkar was the best mind-melder in the Uhlans, by a wide margin, so if he couldn't do it, no one could.

"You've done enough for now, Selkar," said Trip. "You're relieved of duty. Take five days off, rest, meditate, and we'll come back to this afterward. You don't look so good. I'm sorry I've pushed you so hard."

"Think nothing of it, Captain. It was my duty. Gratitude for time off. I think I do need a break," said Selkar, and with that the Vulcan left the room.

Even ending things now was no great loss, as Tucker saw things, for the past four days had been spent learning of Gorn outposts, strongholds, ship yards, etc… all valuable targets, not just for the Uhlans, not even solely for the Bands… thus, after reviewing the data once more and weighing matters, Captain Tucker placed a call to Tarron Urr, a captured Orion Marauder, essentially an Orion light combat cruiser, which had found a more honorable calling under Captain Reed's command.

"What's up, Trip?" said Captain Reed, taking the call in his Ready Room.

"I have a job for you, Malcolm," said Tucker.

"I'm listening."

"The information we've gotten from the Priest-King is valuable," said Tucker. "Now I've already transmitted a copy of that information to Delta Vega, Andoria and Earth. But it occurs to me that both, the Tholians, and the Klingons would love to get their hands on this info as well. There's a lot of good data here to help them plan their missions, and the more effective their strikes, the better for us all."

"I agree," said Malcolm.

"I've already dispatched the Corradon to Tholian Assembly space with this information," said Tucker, "which is where you come in."

Reed nodded, waiting for more.

"I want you to ferry the Klingons we'd planned to return home together, and I want you to take this info we acquired from the Priest-King. Share it with the Klingons," said Tucker.

"All right," said Reed, for though he hated the thought of leaving the Uhlans in Hegemony space, the importance of the mission he'd been given was clear. "I'll get it done, Trip."

"Good," said Trip, and typed a series of commands on his computer keyboard. "I've just transferred the relevant data files, along with the appropriate star maps, to your ship's Comm officer. Talk to the Klingons, see if you can push for an alliance with them, against the Gorn, Malcolm. We're working well with the Tholians, against the Gorn. I'd like to see that same level of cooperation between the Klingons and the Bands."

"Will do," said Reed. "I'll leave within the hour, as soon as I take the Klingons aboard my ship. Stay sharp while I'm gone."

"You got it. Good luck, Malcolm," said Trip, then severed their connection.

* * *

Meanwhile, the Enterprise had just departed Delta Vega, having dropped Soval off at Echo One, the home base which the Bands had created on Delta Vega. Naturally, Soval's first step was to reach out to his own people in order to get a grasp of the current situation, and thus tonight's meeting with Vosset, the logistical wizard in charge of Echo One, and T'Lenn, Vosset's lieutenant, and the Vulcan in charge of seeing that the logistical needs of the Bands were attended to as a priority.

"That's unbelievable," said Soval, for Vosset had given him an unexpected bit of information, "and I am not sure how to feel about it."

That was an understatement, for Vosset had just told Soval that the Bands had reactivated an abandoned Vulcan shipyard, staffed it with Vulcan and Human workers, and were briskly doing business there, repairing the Bands' battle damaged Vulcan ships, as well as slowly but steadily repairing some of the Vulcan ships still floating in orbit.

"Your feelings on the matter are irrelevant, Soval," said Vosset. "It is already happening."

"That shipyard, and those ships, are Vulcan property, Vosset," said Soval. "The Vulcan government has the final say in the disposition of those ships, and that shipyard."

"As you say, Soval," said T'Lenn, "and yet it matters for nothing, as a practical matter. The Gorn draw ever closer, and our duty is to resist them. Or would you have the Gorn reach Earth Sector, and bomb it all with Trellium, in a bid to finish us off."

Soval paled at the thought, but still…

"How are they building and rebuilding ships?" said Soval. "They can't be scavenging all they need from battleground refuse."

"Soval," said Vosset. "There are decades worth of supplies still left on Vulcan, and the Humans can go down there at will, for Trellium is no danger to them. Theoretically, they could even restart the factories and produce more parts if needed, but at our rate of consumption, it would take us a hundred years or more to go through what is already stockpiled on Vulcan now."

"What's more," said T'Lenn, "that applies to food supplies as well. Oh, Earth sends some Human luxury foods and such, chocolates, liquors, and so on, but there's enough pre-packed food on Vulcan, in various warehouses and such, to last the Bands for decades. I'd say forever, but there's a limit to how long food can be stored, but a fifty year supply of food is a given here, Soval."

T'Lenn had watched Soval's face, and said, "This information does not please you, Ambassador."

"My heart is torn here, T'Lenn," said Soval. "I understand the Bands serve our people as well, acting as a shield against the Gorn, but the Vulcan Navy may need those supplies one day."

"Speaking of which," said Vosset, "what is the Vulcan Navy doing, Soval? Why were you brought here by a Human ship? Why is the Vulcan Navy not fighting with the Bands, in defense of what's left of our people, and attempting to reclaim our home."

Soval sighed, and said, "Vulcan is dead, Vosset."

"So what is the Navy doing, Soval?" said T'Lenn. "What is more important then fighting the Gorn?"

"They seek a new homeworld for us, T'Lenn," said Soval. "One hopefully similar to Vulcan, but at this point we can not afford to be picky."

"The Humans want us gone?" said T'Lenn.

"No," said Soval. "In fact they have been quite accommodating, and our people do well enough together, outside some lunatics from Terra Prime. The government, our government, is simply planning for the future. If the Humans should ever ask us to leave, we should have a place to call our own."

"Any luck?" said Vosset.

"No," said Soval. "You know the layout. Romulans and Klingons to one side. Tholians, Cardassians and Breen to the other, and the Gorn beneath us. Between these empires, are many free worlds, claiming the best planets. We have found nothing better than Earth Sector, nothing unclaimed that is. To move elsewhere now, would mean to find ourselves in the same situation as we find ourselves in now. But our Navy still tries."

"Well all that is for the future, Soval," said Vosset. "Why are you here now?"

"I am tasked with convincing the Bands to accept EarthGov's authority, and/or the Vulcan High Command's authority, depending on the make up of the Band's crews."

"Good luck with that, Soval," said T'Lenn, and the look on her face was not encouraging.

"You do not think such a thing can be accomplished?" said Soval.

"Not in a million years, Soval," said T'Lenn, and Vosset nodded his agreement.

"Why?"

"Soval, the men who came out here, Humans and Vulcans alike, consider EarthGov and the High Command to be incompetent," said T'Lenn.

"Not to mention the fact that they're the keen edge of the blade now," said Vosset. "They've been fighting the Gorn since Vulcan's death, five years now, and they're only getting stronger, more capable, more cunning, as time passes. In contrast, StarFleet is a joke - not even blooded in battle. The Vulcan Navy is still strong, but it could never force its will upon the Bands."

"We have some 300 heavy cruisers," said Soval.

"So what?" said Vosset. "The Bands have almost 2,000 ships, and if they're no match for our cruisers in size, they have numbers on their side. What's more, if you open fire on the Bands, Trellium dust could simply be piled onto transporter pads and teleported onto Vulcan ships as a loose powder, to spread throughout our ships. The Bands don't even have to fight the Vulcan Navy to win, and then, your ships are theirs."

That was a possibility which Soval had never considered… the High Command had simply assumed superiority due to their decided superiority in heavy cruisers, but considering Vosset's words, Soval was stumped.

"What's more," said Vosset, "the Bands are slowly upgrading their ships now, adding stealth capability to their ships, even as they work to integrate Gorn style weaponry, and Tholian style shielding. Face it Soval, the Bands are evolving faster than either StarFleet or the Vulcan Navy, and they're all composed of battle hardened veterans. Tough nut to crack."

"Are there any Vulcan Bands we can count on for support?" said Soval, seeking another angle.

"Te'Kres and SoKoun are nominally Vulcan Bands," said Vosset, "but half their crews are Human, and what's more, the Vulcans in these Bands self-selected for loyalty to the Bands by coming here, Soval. They won't act against the Bands for a Vulcan government which failed to protect Vulcan. Forget about them, Soval."

"So we can not pressure the Bands into compliance," said Soval, thoughtfully. "Still, logic and gentle persuasion will do wonders, given time."

* * *

Selkar tossed and turned restlessly in his bunk, still unable to sleep, and this his third sleepless night. True, Vulcans could do without sleep more easily than Humans, but they still needed rest, he especially, given his extensive mind-sharing with the Gorn… and that had been a mental trial.

To feel a Gorn's unbridled feelings, its savage and primitive drives, well it had been quite taxing… and now Selkar could not sleep, could not eat. He'd thrown up after eating that repulsive dish of curried chickpeas atop a bed of rice, though it had been his favorite dish 'till now, and he'd not eaten anything in the past two days.

"Perhaps I am coming down with something," thought Selkar, though he did not seek out medical attention.

Rather, he cranked the heat up in his quarters and bundled up in bed - Tucker had relieved him of duty in order to rest, and Selkar was grateful for that fact now.

* * *

"We'll be in Klingon space soon," said Malcolm, looking round the table at the four Kligon warriors he'd invited to dine with him.

Though Malcolm was returning twenty-seven Klingons back to the Empire, these four were of the warrior caste, the others commoners, for contrary to popular myth, not every Klingon was a warrior - someone had to scrub toilets, heal the sick, etc… but despite the Empire's necessity for commoners, there was no doubt that the Klingon Empire was run by the warriors, and for the warriors. Accordingly, gaining the support of these four Klingons was vital, when Malcolm bid for alliance with the High Council.

Koloth and Rakis grunted at that news, while Toral smiled, and Ka'ar roared a war cry, at which they all began laughing aloud.

"It will be good to be home once more," said Koloth.

"Agreed," said Rakis. "I mean no insult Captain Reed, for I enjoyed fighting with the Uhlans, but a Klingon warrior's duty is to fight for his people."

"True," said Malcolm.

"It is a glorious time to be alive," said Toral. "Future generations will sing of our deeds against the Gorn."

All Klingons nodded in agreement, and Ka'ar said, "All I care for is to face the Gorn.

"No worries, there are many Gorn that still need killing," said Reed, and at that the Klingons toasted the Human captain.

"You must have been a Klingon warrior in another life, Captain!" said Rakis.

"I think you're right, Rakis," said Reed. "I hope I can count on support from you all, if the High Council agreed to see me, and consider my offer of alliance."

"They will see you, Captain," said Koloth. "Have no fear of that. It was an honor to fight in the Bands, and we will all do all we can to swing the High Council to your side. I swear it."

"As do I," said Toral.

"And I," said Ka'ar.

"And I," said Rakis.

* * *

It was 0400 when Selkar woke, and he woke feeling ravenous, and so the Vulcan moved instinctively through the passageways with a single minded purpose, breathing deeply as he moved, his olfactory scent picking up the disgusting scents of Humans and Vulcans strongly, for those putrid scents were laid all about the passageways.

Selkar's walk soon brought the Vulcan to Mess Hall 1 on Deck 7, and the Vulcan stepped inside, his hunger goading him on. Initially, he was frustrated, for of the three mess halls aboard Tek'Xzen, only Mess Hall 2 was staffed and stocked with hot food during the night shift, while Mess Halls 1 and 3 only provided a variety of hot and cold beverages for passer byes. However, each Mess Hall had a number of coolers with food waiting to be prepped the next day, and it was in these coolers that Selkar searched for food.

It took a few minutes to find something edible… fruit, vegetables, a variety of cheeses, all these were thrown to the floor, as were a number of jars and tubes, until Selkar finally came across something edible in a large containers which held a hundred skewers of raw beef kebobs, marinating overnight, and Selkar growled with satisfaction as he began feeding. He was on his fifth skewer, when a noise from the mess hall, drew his attention.

Looking out the pass-through window, Selkar saw Captain Tucker, saw the man grab a cup of coffee in a go-cup, and then take a seat at a table with a great view of the passing star fields, a view the man ignored in favor of his PADD unit.

And for some reason, the sight of the man goaded Selkar into a cold fury, and tossing the skewer he'd been holding back into the container, the Vulcan made way for the mess hall proper, diverting from his course only momentarily, in order to grab a ten inch chef's knife from a magnetic cutlery strip.

He palmed the knife in an ice pick grip and pressed the back of the blade against the back of his forearm, thus concealing the knife's hilt from a frontal view, and with that, Selkar entered the mess hall, heading directly for Captain Tucker.


	9. Chapter 9

— **Chapter 09 —**

* * *

The sequence of events, when later viewed through security cameras by a number of people, was clear:

\- Selkar approached the captain with a concealed chef's knife.

\- The captain speaks to Selkar, senses something, throws his hot coffee in Selkar's face even as the Vulcan brings his knife to bear on the captain.

\- Selkar screams as the hot liquid burns him, and the captain kicks the table into Selkar, knocking the Vulcan down.

\- The captain scrambles to find a way around Selkar and exit the mess hall, but the Vulcan rises to his feet quickly enough to block the captain's exit.

\- The captain throws two chairs at Selkar, uses a third to keep the Vulcan at bay, even as Selkar slashes and cuts, scoring several times.

\- The captain rushes Selkar with the chair held between them, pushing the Vulcan towards the door, and seemingly takes two stabs in the shoulder for his trouble, all while Selkar screams like a lunatic.

\- Selkar pushes back and wrenches the chair from the captain, and as Tucker falls to the ground, Selkar tosses the chair away, moves towards the captain.

\- Tucker kicks the back of Selkar's leg, driving the Vulcan to one knee, then scrambles to his feet at the same time as Selkar.

\- The two jockey for position for a few seconds, with Tucker avoiding Selkar's blade and trapping the Vulcan's arm in the process, Human and Vulcan now wrestling for control of the knife.

\- Just then, the newest Uhlan, T'Pol, grabs hold of Selkar's hair with her left hand and jerks his head back, even as her right hand applies a nerve pinch to the knife wielding Vulcan, forcing him into unconsciousness.

Watching that sequence of events on a video monitor was intense enough, but living through that sequence was something else.

"Jesus Christ!" said Trip as Selkar's body went limp, and Trip's attention opened up enough for him to take notice of T'Pol, the Vulcan looking at Captain Tucker with raised brow. "Baby, you've got great timing!"

"It is true. I have noted that fact myself on many occasions, Captain Tucker," said T'Pol, quite composed, even as Captain Tucker panted for breath. "I called Security from the turbo-lift. They'll be here soon."

Trip nodded, still panting, and sure enough, a minute later four Security officers rushed the mess hall.

"Take Selkar to SickBay," said Trip. "I want him restrained and guarded round the clock, but I want Phlox to look at him immediately."

"Yes, sir," said Dobbins, the Ensign in charge of that squad.

"You should see a medic yourself, Captain," said T'Pol. "I can call for a gurney."

"It will be faster to just walk there now."

"I will walk with you," said T'Pol.

* * *

Meanwhile, just as Tucker barely escaped with his life on Tek'Xzen, the Tactical officer on Reed's ship, Tarron Urr, noticed some sensor activity.

"Captain," said Tactical, "I have three Klingon ship signs."

"Set an intercept course," said Malcolm, for given the Tarron Urr's stealthy nature, the Klingons had not yet detected the Uhlan ship.

There was some element of danger for the Uhlans in approaching the Klingons in an Orion ship, but it was an acceptable risk, for while Klingons didn't particularly care for Orions, Klingons, unlike Andorians, didn't kill Orions on sight… there was too much profit to be made in robbing the Orions, and then setting them free, in order that they might rob them again another day. Sure enough, as the Klingons drew closer, they hailed Tarron Urr with orders to surrender, and by that time Reed had all four Klingon warriors on the Bridge with him.

"Captain?" said Tarron Urr's Comm officer.

Reed nodded and a moment later, a Kligon captain's image was displayed on the Bridge monitor, and the unexpected sight of a mixed Human/Vulcan Bridge crew manning an Orion ship while four Klingon warriors flanked a Human captain, well it was unusual enough to warrant some investigation.

"I am Captain Du'Rak of the Imperial Klingon Navy. Identify yourself."

"Captain Reed of the Black Uhlans, one of the Bands fighting the Gorn Hegemony."

Du'Rak grunted with pleasure at that, and said, "We've heard of these Bands, and have come across the Gorn wreckage you've left in your wake. Well met, Reed."

Du'Rak then shifted his attention to the Klingons and addressed them in their own tongue. Koloth, the highest ranked Klingon warrior on Tarron Urr, fielded Du'Rak's questions, and eventually Du'Rak and Koloth finished their conversation. Du'Rak looked at Reed.

"Koloth tells me you wish to address the High Council, Captain Reed, and you offer some intelligence data on the Gorn in return for their time," said Du'Rak. "I am certain that they will hear you out, Captain. We're now heading back to Qo'noS, the Klingon homeworld. Fall in with us and we'll escort you through our patrols."

Reed nodded in agreement, and moments later the four ships laid course for the heart of the Klingon Empire.

* * *

By the time Trip and T'Pol reached Tek'Xzen's SickBay, Selkar was already sedated and laid out inside a tube like resonance chamber which would soon take thousands of readings on the Vulcan's physical state, and as part of this process Phlox was programming a number of parameters in the resonance chamber's control panel.

"Come this way, laddie," said a brusque voice from the other side of SickBay. "Let me tend to you. Phlox is busy."

Trip looked at T'Pol and grinned at the unexpected summons, then headed towards the woman who'd called out his way.

"You must be the new doctor we've added to the crew," said Trip. "Doctor Barker?"

"Harper," said Dr. Harper. "But call me Alice. Come on now, have a seat here."

Trip took a seat on a sick bed, while Alice looked for her hand held scanner, grumbling the whole time.

"What the hell did I do with that cursed thing?" said Alice. "I just had it, two minutes ago!"

"Maybe I'll wait for Phlox to finish," said Trip, giving Alice a bemused look.

"Hey now," said Alice, giving Trip a hard look, "don't you be playing with me. Now strip. Remove your jacket and your shirt, let's see what we're dealing with here."

"All right," said Trip, and though he didn't need the help, he didn't object when T'Pol lent a hand.

"Here we go," said Alice, turning round to see T'Pol helping Trip with his shirt, and the good doctor made eye contact with the captain, and the doctor's eyes gleamed as she raised both brows, and smiled. "Well we've certainly got a close working relationship going on here, Captain Tucker."

"You want in?" said Trip, seemingly dead serious. "A threesome?"

Alice smirked and said, "Sure, Captain, deal me in."

It was probably just as well for Dr. Harper that she missed the look on T'Pol's face after her exchange with the captain, and then Alice drew close to Trip in order to take an inventory of the captain's wounds.

"Not too bad," said Alice, even as she wiped Trip's bloody gashes with some anti-septic liquid. "You got lucky, Captain."

"I didn't get lucky," said Trip. "I danced my ass off to avoid worse than what you're seeing."

"Easy, lad," said Alice. "Don't be so testy."

"What's with this lad business?" said Trip. "We look to be the same age."

"Yes," said Alice, as she took some readings using her hand held scanner, "but I've lived a much fuller life."

"I'll bet," said Trip. "Is that why I smell whiskey on your breath?"

"Leave off now, I just had a swallow or two, with lunch," said Alice, setting her scanner down. "Good news. None of the damage you've taken warrants surgery."

"So what now?" said Trip.

"Now I stitch you up, and send you on your way," said Alice.

Sure enough, twenty minutes later Trip had forty-two stitches spread about his torso, and Alice handed him a bottle of pain killers.

"Two a day until you run out," said Alice. "No, more, you hear?"

"Keep them," said Trip, for the man hated taking drugs. "Thanks for sewing me up, Doc."

"Mmmm, hmmm," said Alice. "See you soon."

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Trip.

"I hear you make a habit of regularly appearing in SickBay in various states of medical distress," said Alice.

"Oh. That I do," said Trip, shaking his head ruefully.

"Wait…" said Alice. "Did you think I was referencing our planned threesome? Was that a real proposal?"

Trip glanced at T'Pol, raised brow in fair imitation of the Vulcan, and said, "Was it?"

"It was not!" said T'Pol, and though her expression was almost properly neutral, there was no concealing the fact that the Vulcan was scandalized at the mere thought of sharing Captain Tucker with another.

"There you go," said Trip, looking at Alice. "Thanks, Doc."

Alice nodded and began stowing away her gear, while Trip and T'Pol wandered towards Phlox, the Denobulan completely absorbed in studying the data which was produced by the resonance chamber.

"Doctor?" said Trip.

"Ah, Captain. T'Pol. Look at this, you'll find it quite fascinating," said Phlox, dividing the screen in two, each one displaying a set of medical data. "On the left you'll see the Gorn's read outs. On the right, you'll see Selkar's read outs. Now you'll notice a great many differences between the two, but not—"

"But not in the brainwave patterns," said T'Pol. "The brainwave patterns are identical."

"Precisely," said Phlox, looking at T'Pol, bright eyed.

"So what's that mean?" said Trip. "The Gorn has obviously entrained Selkar's brainwaves to his own during their mind melds, somehow."

"Has this ever happened before?" said T'Pol. "I know you've captured, and mind probed Gorn before this one."

"Never happened before," said Trip, "but we've never probed a Priest-King."

"Just so," said Phlox. "Never a Priest-King."

"And now we have to worry if that damned thing is affecting other people on Tek'Xzen," said Trip.

"We should remain alert to that possibility," said T'Pol, a bit more familiar with psychic phenomena than Phlox or Tucker. "However, I suspect that we need not be concerned. I think what happened here, was that Selkar spent too much time swimming in the psyche of a stronger mind, and was subsumed into it to some degree. Keep him sedated long enough, and he'll pop out of that mindset."

"She may well be right, Captain," said Phlox. "We will monitor Selkar, now that he's under my care, and I'll speak with some of the other psychic Vulcans in the fleet, get their input."

"Keep me informed," said Trip.

"Of course, Captain," said Phlox, and the Denobulan returned to his study of Selkar's readout.

* * *

"Computer," said T'Pol, speaking into the comm terminal built into the turbo-lift pod. "Locate Captain Tucker."

"The captain is in his Ready Room."

T'Pol touched the lift pod's control panel to alter course and a few moments later T'Pol stood before the Ready Room's door.

"Enter," said Trip, in response to the chime which announced a visitor.

A moment later, T'Pol entered the room, and Trip leaned back in his chair and smiled.

"T'Pol," said Trip. "My own personal savior! Sit, sit."

"Thank you," said T'Pol.

"How do you like your new quarters?" said Trip, for earlier this day he'd moved T'Pol from the small room she'd first assigned herself when stowing away on Tek'Szen, to a larger cabin in officer country, a room with a large window, a deep soaking tub as well as a shower, and a cabin conveniently close to the heart of all that mattered on Tek'Xzen. "You satisfied?"

"Quite satisfied, Captain," said T'Pol, "but there was no need to assign me new quarters. I was merely doing my duty in coming to your aid."

"I disagree," said Trip. "Anything I can do to encourage the crew to come to my rescue, will be done, T'Pol."

"As you say, Captain."

"So why are you here?"

T'Pol slid a PADD unit towards Trip, and said, "The latest reports from the science department. As you know, Medical and Science are working hand in hand to analyze the make up of the Priest-King."

"And?" said Trip, glancing at the PADD unit's file directory.

"The Priest-Kings receive an additional growth spurt five years after sexual maturity, unlike the rest of the Gorn," said T'Pol. "That secondary growth is clearly responsible for their greater size and intelligence, but we are not sure if this is the result of genetic influences, or artificial influences. We will assume for now that genetic factors are at play here, else it seems that it would benefit the Hegemony to make all Gorn into Priest-Kings."

"Makes sense," said Trip. "Keep at it."

T'Pol nodded.

"One thing I meant to ask you," said Trip. "How'd you know I was in trouble? You said you called Security from the lift pod while on your way to the mess hall, but how did you know to do that I was in trouble?"

And here, T'Pol looked startled to hear the captain's question, though she'd wondered that herself, and she said "I had a hunch."

"A hunch," said Trip. "You had a hunch that someone was trying to kill me?"

"No," said T'Pol, clearly picking her words carefully. "I just had a hunch you were in trouble, and I reached out to Security as I went looking for you."

"But you're not psychic?"

"No, I am not," said T'Pol.

"You get these hunches often, T'Pol?"

"No."

"Damned strange," said Trip, uncertain where to take it from that point. "We should have a Vulcan psychic check you out. You might have psychic talent, maybe you're just a late bloomer or something. Worth investigating."

"Yes," said T'Pol, hoping the man would leave it at that, for she'd considered the possibilities and the conclusion she'd arrived at was… startling, a bit frightening, and quite exciting, but now was not the time to bring the matter up for discussion with Captain Tucker. Not 'till she was sure.

They sat in silence for a while, while Trip reviewed the contents of the PADD unit.

"Hey, what's this?" said Trip. "File named 'Ferengi_Con32'. A text file, 337 pages long."

"Ah," said T'Pol. "That's a Ferengi contract which transfers ownership of your person to me. It's quite comprehensive and lists the entirety of your duties to me."

"Excuse me?" said Trip, with a laugh.

"Yes, well, I clearly saved your life in Mess Hall 1," said T'Pol. "In many cultures, that would mean that your life belongs to me, and since you are a Human I thought you'd find the overt nature of a Ferengi contract more fitting than just an open ended understanding that you belonged to me."

"You're kidding with all this, right?" said Trip, uncertain if T'Pol was putting him on, or not.

"I am not kidding, Captain Tucker. Accordingly, I would like you to place your electronic signature upon that document. Now would be fine. You can read it later," said T'Pol, looking quite composed…

Still, although her body language was on point, Trip somehow knew that T'Pol was kidding - he'd gotten really good at reading her emotions in a short time.

"Tell you what," said Trip. "I'll have my lawyer look it over, and we can discuss it further if he gives me the thumbs up."

"That is acceptable," said T'Pol.


	10. Chapter 10

**— Chapter 10 —**

* * *

Three days had passed since Selkar's attempt on Captain Tucker's life, and the Uhlans were heading deeper into Hegemony space… given the wealth of tactical data uncovered by Selkar's mind melds with the Priest-King, it would have been unthinkable to pass up some wonderful opportunities to bleed the Gorn, and so Captain Tucker had shared the entirety of the data with his Tactical officer, and that officer had conferred with his fellows in the fleet to arrive at a cohesive plan of action which would make best use of that valuable information, a plan which Tactical meant to present to Captain Tucker, now.

"…and so I wait at your convenience, Captain," said Samuels, the Tactical officer, for he'd just told his superior that a plan was ready. "I have a presentation set up in the conference room."

"All right," said Trip, standing to his feet. "T'Pol, you have the conn."

Although that would have been true in any case, for T'Pol would be the highest ranking officer once the captain and Tactical stepped off the Bridge, this was T'Pol's first time in command, and so the transfer of power was explicit.

"Yes, Captain," said T'Pol.

She had to restrain herself too, from leaping to the captain's chair the moment that the captain and Tactical had left the Bridge, and so T'Pol walked over to Tactical's station, fiddled with a few settings there, before taking the captain's chair. Oh, sure, she could have simply commanded the ship from the Science station, but there was something symbolic in taking the captain's chair… for the first time in five years she'd been judged competent to serve. Not just in a probationary capacity, as in being allowed to man the Science station, but a real capacity, for even though no danger threatened, an Acting Captain had to be trusted in order to be placed in that position.

T'Pol sighed, truly satisfied for the first time in a long time. It was all her mate's doing… he'd seen something in her, he'd given her a chance even after her faux pas in stowing away on Tek'Xzen, he'd been liberal with his affection and his friendship, he'd trusted her, and now T'Pol saw her path back to redemption… and it was all her mate's doing.

There was no point in denying it either… Captain Tucker was her mate, for they had an active Bond between them now. Oh yes, it was just recently forged and still growing in strength, but it was undeniable. She'd had brief visions of the man, concrete glimpses into his past, as well as abstract sensations which illuminated aspects of his psyche, while for his part, the man finished her sentences with such frequency that T'Pol wondered that he'd not noticed it already, for their abbreviated conversations would make no sense to an outsider, and all that while still reading her emotional states with such subtlety that it was quite amazing.

And now T'Pol wondered if the Bond she shared with Captain Tucker was the reason for her mental stability, which had improved in leaps and bounds the closer she'd drawn to Captain Tucker. That would make sense, for Bondmates leaned upon the other, but it also begged the question, "Did I parasitically latch onto the man for stability?"

But then she'd not 'latched' on to any other in the past five years despite the need, and what's more a Bond would not be activated on such cynical terms, nor could it have been forced onto the man, so T'Pol set her worries aside. No, what truly counted was that she was mated!

"I will have to tell my mother!" thought T'Pol, joyfully. "Hasha, I will have to tell my mate! Soon…"

* * *

"…and so," said Tactical, wrapping up his presentation to Captain Tucker, "we believe these targets represent the most bang for the buck, Captain, cutting deeply into the Hegemony's infrastructure. Accordingly, we've sent out feelers to the rest of the Bands, and we have help on the way."

"Which Bands?" said Trip.

"The Breed is on the way, and given the stealth which only our two fleets possess at this time, we'll take these three objectives," said Tactical, pointing out three targets deepest in Hegemony space. "Meanwhile SoKoun, the Sons of Silence and the Renegades will take these four objectives. Lastly, the Andorian Bands, Udullon, Se'shel'n and Merr'maj will take these six objectives."

"That's a lot for the Andorians to cover," said Trip, looking thoughtfully at the objectives laid out for the Andorians.

"No worries, Captain," said Tactical. "Two Wings of Imperial Guards are joining the Andorian Bands at the Emperor's command, and together, they'll get the job done, never fear."

"All right," said Trip, as he had a healthy respect for the Imperial Guards. "No problems than. Have we transmitted our battle plans to Corradon?"

"Yes, sir," said Tactical, for he'd seen to the matter himself on the captain's orders, transmitting the battle plans to the Uhlan ship dispatched to Tholian Assembly space with the initial information packet. "The Corradon reports that the Tholians have accepted both, the initial information packet, as well as the secondary packet with our battle plans."

"And?"

"You know the Tholians, sir," said Tactical. "They just took the info, and then warped out. Who knows what they'll do."

Trip grunted, and said, "The Corradon?"

"On it's way back, sir."

"Ok," said Trip. "How long before all the pieces are in play? When is the attack scheduled?"

"Nine days from now, Captain."

Trip thought on that, and said, "Has Captain Reed checked in lately? Do we have a rough position for him in Klingon space?"

"Yes, Captain," said Tactical.

"Good," said Trip. "Let's encrypt these plans, and forward them to Reed immediately. Let's see if the Klingons want to join the attack."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

At the conclusion of his meeting with Tactical, Trip made way for SickBay, where he found Alice and Phlox clustered by Selkar's bed.

"Selkar," said Trip. "It's good to see you awake."

"Thank you, Captain," said Selkar. "I have just heard about my recent actions, and I must apologize for my attempt on your life."

"Forget about it," said Trip. "It wasn't your doing, Selkar, and I'm sure you know that. What's more, most of my subordinates try to kill me sooner or later, without the benefit of a proper excuse like yours."

"So I have heard," said Selkar, with a deadpan expression on his face.

"So what's the prognosis, doctors?" said Trip.

"We will release Selkar from our care in a day or two, though I've relieved him of duty for ten days," said Phlox, "but I see no reason to be concerned after speaking with a number of the Vulcan psychics in the fleet. One caveat. I do not suggest that Selkar mind meld with that particular Priest-King ever again. Use other psychics on the Priest-King if you must, and rotate them every two days."

"I understand," said Trip. "Any determination on what caused this effect in Selker? Is the Gorn psychic? Because if he's likely to influence the crew we'll just off him now. The Gorn, I mean, not Selkar."

"To hear the Vulcan psychics speak of it, it's not like that," said Phlox. "Selker was simply subsumed by a stronger psyche. So long as none of the psychics engage in any more week long mind-melds with the Gorn, all should be well."

"All right," said Trip. "I have to return to the Bridge, but it's good to see you Selkar. You let me know if I can do anything for you, understand?"

"Yes, Captain."

* * *

Later that day T'Pol paid her own visit to the holding cell which held the Priest-King, and though the Gorn was allowed to move around the holding cell during some of his captivity, he was always stunned, then trussed as he'd been the first time, for interrogative mind melds. And that's why T'Pol was here now, for although her ability to meld minds was nowhere as far reaching as Selkar's, she had some ability at it, and T'Pol intended to verify some of the facts they'd already uncovered earlier, and she also hoped to uncover some facts they'd not been privy to so far.

She'd not told Captain Tucker of her intentions, because T'Pol felt the man would object for some reason, but it was her duty to try, and given her past with the V'Shar, it was likely that she would ask the most relevant questions… and so here she was now, face to face with this carnivorous horror, and T'Pol broke out in a cold sweat despite the fact that the Gorn was immobile… the thing was just so damned large, and alien, and menacing, and every instinct in T'Pol urged the Vulcan to run. Still, she was here on duty, so she climbed the small dais placed there just so that the Vulcans might reach the Gorn's skull comfortably.

"Give me the room," said T'Pol, looking at the guards present in the room.

"Our orders are to keep the Gorn under constant surveillance," said the Ensign in charge of this detail.

"I need to mind meld with it," said T'Pol, "but I am not as good as Selkar, and I can not do it with you in the room. Your presence would distract me in the process."

"All right," said the Ensign. "We'll be right outside."

Moments later, T'Pol was alone with the Gorn, and she was as good as her word. After spending fifteen minutes establishing a link and then pushing through the sheer barrier of a true mental link with a mind much stranger than any she'd ever sampled before, T'Pol went about her tasks in a purposeful way, first verifying some of Selkar's findings, for there was some concern that his discoveries could not be trusted given his entrainment to the Gorn's mind… but no, Selkar's findings were mostly accurate, and what few discrepancies existed, were minor. That task done, T'Pol rooted around in the Gorn's psyche for more, and made but limited progress for she lacked Selkar's skills.

Eventually T'Pol drew back within herself, and the wall mounted clock told her that she'd been at it for ninety minutes so far. Her hands dropped from the Gorn's skull, and she looked into the Gorn's glossy black eyes. This thing was still every bit as frightening as it had ever been, a wall of muscle, and teeth, and claws, but all T'Pol could think of as she looked at this monstrosity was that this creature, and others like it, had killed billions of her people.

Moving unconsciously now, T'Pol reached for a pen she'd clipped onto her lapel earlier, and it was just then, as she caressed the pen's stainless steel length that she realized what she was holding… and T'Pol knew why.

She'd studied the medical scans which Phlox had taken of the Gorn, and she'd done so extensively. These creatures were a study in toughness and savagery, the countless cycles of near self-destruction under Nemesis' sway weeding out weakness in the species, but no genetic blueprint was flawless, and even the Gorn had a number of places on their body where nerves and nodes were present on the surface of the body, or close to it, and it was at just one such point, an inch beneath the Gorns left eye, where T'Pol pressed her pen strongly, pinching nerve between bone and steel. The effect was electric.

The Gorn's body tensed forcefully, and he growled as much as he could through tightly bound jaws, but T'Pol was patient, and she kept working the Gorn, going from place to place, nerve cluster to nerve cluster for the next two hours, until the Gorn actually passed out from the pain, and as T'Pol looked at the Gorn's limp body, she felt only disappointment in how weak the satisfaction. Perhaps if she'd killed the fucking thing, but logic told T'Pol that this creature still had some uses, and taking its life was not her decision to make.

Well, if torturing this beast did not give her satisfaction she sought, she'd merely have to make her best contributions to the Uhlans, for they could wring much more satisfaction from the Gorn, on her behalf, by the mere fact that they were bleeding the Hegemony on a regular basis.

* * *

Having just left the Gorn, T'Pol headed for the turbo-lift, her feelings still conflicted. Just then, the lift stopped to take on another passenger, and T'Pol nodded when Dr. Harper entered the lift.

"How are you, T'Pol?"

"I am well, Doctor."

"Good," said Alice. "Phlox and I were speaking earlier, and we need you to come in for a physical."

"I am fine, Doctor. I do not need medical attention."

"Maybe not now," said Alice, "but if you get hurt we need to have a baseline for you, T'Pol. You should have had a physical by now, and it needs to be taken care of. Doctor's orders."

T'Pol grew somewhat agitated now, as she had good reasons for not wishing to suffer a series of medical tests, though she managed to suppress an overt display of irritation, at the request.

"Unfortunately, my duties—" said T'Pol, and Alice pressed the Halt button, freezing the lifts motion through the ship.

"T'Pol," said Alice, "you need to come in. Rest assured neither Dr. Phlox, nor I will ever discuss the results of your tests with anyone outside of Medical, so you have no reason to worry about anyth—."

"I am not worried about anything, Doctor."

"Yes you are, T'Pol," said Alice. "Look, I suspect that you're one of the Afflicted, and I can tell you've struggled with some sort of drug addiction recently, but Phlox and I are here to help you, T'Pol."

T'Pol had paled at the woman's mention of drug addiction, for it was the main reason she'd resisted the idea of an in-depth physical which would reveal her secret to outsiders, and yet it was clearly plain to see, that her past was a secret only in her own mind.

"Is it so apparent?" said T'Pol. "My drug use?"

"Only to a medical doctor with first hand experience with addiction, T'Pol," said Alice, her voice soothing. "The medical exam is not optional. It's captain's orders, it's doctor's orders, it's only logical. You know that Phlox and I only want to help our crewmen, T'Pol."

"I know," said T'Pol.

"I can tell you've been clean for a while. How long?"

"Since I arrived on Delta Vega," said T'Pol. "About thirty days now."

Alice nodded, and said, "Have you suffered any physical side effects?"

"Minimal, Doctor. I've felt a bit light-headed now and then, some psychological cravings, but I can control them."

"Ok," said Alice. "That's not too bad. Now we need to stay ahead of it all, both the physical and psychological symptoms, T'Pol. We can help you with that, but you can't shut us out. What's more, if you try, I'll make a stink with the captain, and he will reinforce my orders, I have no doubt of that."

"I understand," said T'Pol.

"Good," said Alice. "Why don't you come in now, let's get your physical done and over with, let's see where you stand, and we'll go from there."

"As you say," said T'Pol, seeing the sense of it all, for the doctor was implacable.

Two hours later, the whole matter was dealt with quite efficiently, and even as T'Pol dressed, Dr. Harper approached the Vulcan.

"Ok," said Alice. "I'll look everything over in depth, but on first glance, you're in pretty good shape, T'Pol. The only caveat is that your serotonin and dopamine levels are not optimal for your species. That might be due to your Affliction, might be due to your drug use, or it might just be your natural chemistry at work. Since we have no previous records of you, we'll begin tracking your condition now, and strive to optimize things from here."

"I understand," said T'Pol.

"For what it's worth," said Alice, "I suspect your readings were much worse while using drugs, and I believe that in time we'll see improvements where you're lacking, but no matter what, I'm here for you, T'Pol. You need anything, you come to me, day or night."

"Gratitude," said T'Pol, strangely relieved now that her secret was out, for now she had no cause to avoid medical treatment.

* * *

"You will address the High Council tomorrow, Captain Reed," said a Klingon officer from the planet Qo'noS, as Reed's ship orbited the Klingon homeworld.

"Thank you," said Malcolm.

"You are welcome to beam down to Qo'noS, Captain," said the officer. "We would be glad to show hospitality to an honored guest."

"I appreciate it," said Malcolm, "but I want to look over the entirety of the data which I'll present to the High Council tomorrow. You do understand."

"I do," said the Klingon. "Until tomorrow then. I will contact you at the appropriate time, and see you delivered to the High Council."

Malcolm nodded his understanding, and with that the Klingon logged off.

Malcolm had told the truth, he had a lot of data to go through by tomorrow, for he had no intentions of fumbling his way through a presentation before the Klingon High Council. First, there was the initial data dump they'd gotten from the Gorn, and then the information contained in the latest packet he'd received from the Uhlans, outlining the mass attack which the Bands, the Imperial Guards, and hopefully the Tholians, intended to launch upon Hegemony space. His task was to entice the Klingons to join the attack - Klingons being warriors, that should not be too hard a task, but Malcolm never took things for granted.


	11. Chapter 11

**— Chapter 11 —**

* * *

T'Pol should have been happy now, she really should have been happy… her mate's hands roamed freely over her body, his lips were locked to hers and doing a wonderful job of sparking a fire, and T'Pol's body naturally responded, yet she couldn't relax into it right now. They had to talk…

"Trip," said T'Pol, cupping the man's face, and gently lifting his face. "Trip, we need to talk."

"Are you kidding me? You want to talk now?!"

"Yes, I am sorry."

Trip growled, rolled on his back, and said, "This better be good, T'Pol. Go."

T'Pol spun onto her side, and laid a hand on Trip's chest, then kissed his chin, and said, "I am sorry, my timing on this night is off, but I have to get this off my chest. I need to tell you something about you, about me, about us."

"You want to talk about the Bond," said Trip. "I can feel your apprehension… and now your wonder."

"You know?! How?"

"T'Pol, I've spent the past five years in various stages of shipboard confinement with hundreds of Vulcans," said Trip. "I've seen your people enter pon'farr and assumed that said Vulcans were exhibiting the symptoms of Affliction, but I was educated by other Vulcans on the true nature of what I was viewing, and I learned about the Bond in the process… Not that I needed any of that to figure it out what's happening with us — about ten days ago I began getting feedback when I think of you — I mean I feel your emotions, I see what you're doing, where you are, things like that."

"Yet you didn't say anything."

"I thought to wait 'till you brought it up," said Trip. "Figured you'd talk of it when you were ready."

"I am ready. How do you feel about all this, Trip? The Bond. Our Bond."

"I think I'm all right with it, T'Pol," said Trip, turning his head to look at T'Pol, with a grin on his face. "In fact, I'm more than all right. You?"

"Obviously," said T'Pol, "else a Bond would not have sprung between us. There's so much to talk about, but I'm not ready for any of that tonight. I had planned this night's talking points only so far as they covered our Bond… and you have thrown me off balance. You seem to do that a lot."

"Ah… sorry, I guess."

"Do not apologize, Trip. My thoughts are scrambled now. We will talk of it some more tomorrow," said T'Pol. "I trust that you are not going to make a big emotional scene over this matter tonight?"

"That would be in bad taste, wouldn't it? Vulcan mores and such."

"Indeed," said T'Pol, looking speculatively at Trip. "Still, we should do something to acknowledge a milestone in our relationship."

"What do you suggest?"

"Well, you could do your dirty little business atop me, and then we could have Chef fix us something special, something with coconut and chocolate," said T'Pol.

"Or we could just go straight for the chocolate and coconut," said Trip. "That sounds pretty good right about now."

"No, no," said T'Pol, running her hands over Trip's bare chest. "You should have your sport, Trip."

"But—"

"I said no, Trip. We should continue what we started, before I interrupted our momentum. It is only right."

"Just say it."

"Say what?" said T'Pol.

"Say that you want some loving," said Trip, putting hands on T'Pol.

"Fine, fine, I want some loving," said T'Pol, "but we do not need to make a big production of it if you are tired, Trip."

"I disagree, T'Pol," said Trip. "Acknowledging the existence of a Bond should be smothered in pleasure, and accompanied by the most perverse of physical acts, T'Pol."

"Oh my," said T'Pol. "You don't mean—"

"Oh, but I do," said Trip. "We're performing the Tellarite Maneuver tonight."

* * *

Three of the five Andorian Bands, Udullon, Se'shel'n and Merr'maj waited at the appointed place, waited for the two Wings of Imperial Guards which would supplement their numbers and their strength in preparation for the joint attack on Hegemony space, for unlike the other Federated Bands, the Andorian Bands served completely at the pleasure of the Andorian Emperor.

Sure enough, just minutes before the appointed hour, three hundred Andorian military vessels of various classes warped in next to the Bands, and moments later, a comm stream was transmitted from a Guards' ship, to the Andorian Bands.

Each Band's commander answered the hail, to view the image of the Andorian commander leading these Wings: his uniform marked him as an Imperial Guard, yet even if the man had worn sackcloth, his identity would have been apparent, for his hard face was marked by a well earned arrogance that was unmistakable.

"Thy'lek Shran," said the Andorian. "I'm here to assume command of your ships and your men, in the Emperor's name."

"We serve the Emperor's will, Commander. Where you lead, we follow," said Ifzrel, commander of Merr'maj and the most senior captain among the Andorian Bands, not the least disturbed at Shran's assumption of authority - the Guards were the best of the best, an extension of the Emperor's will.

* * *

"…and so," said Malcolm, winding down his presentation before the members of the High Council, "we offer this information to the High Council, in the hope that it might guide your warriors to glory, and victory, against the Gorn."

A few dozen Klingons grunted their agreement with the Human's sentiment, for though this meeting with the High Council was an informal one, four dozen warriors were still in attendance.

K'mpec, head of the High Council and one of five High Councilors, held up his hand, and silence fell.

"We appreciate this information, Captain Reed," said K'mpec, "and I will tell you that the Gorn press us hard. If your information is valuable, we will not forget your aid. We will study your data now, and get back to you soon. Until then we invite you to accept our hospitality, after which time we will wish to speak with you again."

"Respectfully," said Malcolm, baiting the hook, "duty calls me elsewhere. A joint attack on Hegemony space will soon take place, and my honor will not allow me to hang back while my comrades fight and die against the Gorn."

"A joint attack you say?" said councilor Kell. "Who are the actors?"

"Eight Federated Bands, two Wings of Andorian Imperial Guards, and a number of the Tholians," said Malcolm, hoping that the Tholians would indeed join the attack. "The details of the upcoming attack are in the data packet I've presented to the High Council."

"That is interesting," said councilor Gi'ral. "You will accept our hospitality until we study your information, Captain Reed, for it is possible that the Klingon Empire may wish to join that attack, and your council would be valuable in dealing with the Bands."

"Yes, High Councilor," said Malcolm, quite pleased, for his ship alone would provide only a marginal benefit in war, but bringing the Klingons in… well, that would accomplish a touch more.

"Good. Until then, Ajan will see you to your needs," said K'mpec, glancing to his left, where a fetching Klingon female stepped from the ranks, and saluted Reed, before coming to take a place by his side. "We will call for you in time, Captain Reed."

* * *

"I apologize for my tardiness," said T'Pol, as she stepped up to a lunch table.

"I just got here myself, T'Pol," said Alice, for since the physical exam she'd given T'Pol, she and the Vulcan had begun spending time together… which wasn't all that surprising, come to think of it, for other than Captain Tucker, T'Pol seemed to be a loner and perhaps even a loner craved company now and then. "Sit down and tell me what's new."

They chatted for a bit about ship's business, then spent some time speaking of Captain Tucker, for T'Pol hoped that Alice might elucidate some of intricacies of Human relationships.

"Hmmm," said Alice, having just fielded an odd question from T'Pol. "Ok, I can see why you might think that about us, but it's not the case. If you want to understand Human relationships, romantic movies are required viewing. A must."

"A must?" said T'Pol.

"Yes," said Alice. "Tell you what. Let's have a movie night. Come by my quarters after your shift and we'll watch and old movie together. Frankie and Johnny, with Al Pacino and Michelle Pfeiffer. Watch that movie, and you'll understand romantic Human relationships. Guaranteed."

"Very well," said T'Pol. "May I bring something from the mess hall when I come? I understand that snacks are mandatory for all viewing experiences."

That question caught Alice just as she'd raised a pewter flask to her lips, and Alice took a swallow of Andorian ale, before offering the flask to T'Pol. The Vulcan passed.

"Sure," said Alice. "Bring a couple of slices of Chef's blueberry cheesecake, and a couple of iced coffees."

"Very well," said T'Pol. "And you say that I will find this movie enlightening?"

"Guaranteed," said Alice.

* * *

"You are certain that you do not want to rest a bit now, Captain Reed?" said Ajan, just as the two were about to enter the gym located atop the roof of the building in which Malcolm had just had his meeting with the High Council.

"I'm positive, Ajan," said Malcolm. "I'm a bit high strung, and I adhere to a regular exercise regimen."

"Admirable," said the Klingon, stepping through the door and then aside, holding the door open for Qo'noS' honored quest.

"Thank you," said Malcolm. "So are you a member of the High Councils' staff?"

"Imperial Navy, though my father is a senior administrative assistant to High Councilor K'mpec," said Ajan. "I'm assigned as your liaison for practical reasons. Might do my career a bit of good, to be seen by the High Council, now and then."

Malcolm murmured something which might have passed for agreement, but he said nothing.

"Here we are," said Ajan leading the way into the large gym.

"Nice setup," said Malcolm, glancing around the giant room: machines, free weights, a mat covered area for combat sports, a variety of striking bags… "Very nice."

"Come this way," said Ajan. "You need some appropriate workout clothing."

Ten minutes later, Malcolm returned to the gym in some type of spandex type outfit, which compared quite favorably with one of T'Pol's catsuits… Malcolm was mortified. Still, when in Rome, or on Qo'noS.

"So what is your pleasure, Captain?" said Ajan.

Malcolm turned to see that the approaching Kligon had also changed into a similar outfit, and though Ajan was small for a Klingon, just barely Malcolm's height, the curves revealed by that outfit were quite fetching. A lovely package all around given her glossy black eyes, a facial structure both delicately rendered and strongly built, no doubt, and that ridged Klingon forehead which gave Ajan something of a cobra's mien: but a sexy cobra!

"I think I'll start off on the mat, and go from there, Ajan."

The Klingon nodded, and said, "I don't suppose you'd care to spar with me?"

"Sure," said Malcolm.

They warmed up for a few minutes, then Human and Klingon faced each other, Malcolm curious to sample a Klingon martial art firsthand.

"Go," said Ajan, and she and Reed approached each other cautiously, for each read in the other's stance and movements, the readiness of a trained combatant.

"Still," thought Ajan a bit despondently, "it won't be a real test. The Human will hold back because he's fighting a female."

And Ajan continued thinking in that vein for another four seconds, until Reed rushed and struck Ajan with a front kick that doubled the Klingon over, a kick which the Human followed with a punch that took the Klingon to the floor. Ajan looked up at the man, grinning now, despite a bloody lip, and then she took her feet.

"You didn't hold back!" said Ajan, quite pleased.

"I assumed that holding back would have been an insult to a Klingon warrior," said Malcolm.

"It would have been an insult," said Ajan, looking approvingly at the Human. "Now let's go."

They went back and forth for the next two hours, gaining advantage and suffering setback in turn, and by the end of it they both looked as bruised, cut and battered as if they'd tangled with a bobcat.

"Enough," said Malcolm. "We go any longer, I'm going to kill you, Ajan."

"Ha!" said Ajan.

"No, it's true," said Malcolm. "You're huffing like a locomotive."

Ajan laughed though she'd never seen a 'locomotive' huff, but she took the man's meaning, and said, "Liar!"

"All right, you win," said Malcolm. "Now, how about a shower and some lunch? Nothing living though, and nothing that ever crawled."

"Weakling," said Ajan, in a good natured taunt.

"So what style of combat were you using with only marginal efficiency against me, Ajan?"

Ajan snorted, and said, "Mok'bara, fool."

"Well, hopefully your people cook better than they fight," said Malcolm.

"Are you certain that you are Human," said Ajan, studying Malcolm closely, "and not Tellarite?"


	12. Chapter 12

***Though I'm two days too late, belated birthday wishes to MostDismalFeldsparkle - though her bones are brittle with age, her hearing fades, her eyes are clouded by the passage of time(and cataracts), and her steps are small and feeble even with the aid of her walker, she is still the most passionate of Enterprise fans. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MDF!

***Warning: Human/Klingon sex, up ahead. That part of the chapter is dedicated to that little sicko, LoyaulteMeLie, who is positively OBSESSED with Malcolm's sexual prowess, and sees Ajan as her own alter ego, so if Klingon sex distresses you, please pass it by, but I promised LML… satisfaction.

.

.

 **— Chapter 12 —**

* * *

It was just ten hours after first dismissing Captain Reed, that the Klingon High Council recalled the man. This time the High Council chambers were packed, for this was a formal meeting, and after a brief but relatively flowery reception of a man who'd rendered aid to the Klingon Empire during a difficult time, K'mpec spoke.

"As Head of the High Council, it is my duty, and my honor, to thank Captain Reed of the Black Uhlans for the delivery of valuable data which will surely aid us in our war against the Gorn," said K'mpec. "I will also say that the High Council has studied the details of the upcoming attack on Hegemony space, and has determined that Kligon ships and warriors should play a role in that strike agains—"

A roar went up in the packed chamber, for though the Gorn had mauled the Klingons quite severely in the process of gobbling up a third of their empire, the Klingons were nowhere close to conceding defeat to the reptiles. K'mpec smiled, though the interruption of his words was technically against the rules of the High Council, but at times like these Klingon blood ran hot, and that was understandable.

"…and so," said K'mpec, "the High Council has determined that Klingon ships and warriors should play a role in that strike against the Gorn in Hegemony space, so although we're pressed in En'karra, Dublak and Tremokar sectors, the 5th, 6th and 9th fleets will participate in this joint attack. These fleets depart Qo'noS within hours, in order that our strikes may blend seamlessly with that of the Bands, the Andorians and the Tholians."

Another roar went up at that announcement for some of the warriors in attendance here were members of one or the other fleets just named, and there was endless glory in carrying war into the heart of Gorn territory… with that, K'mpec ended the meeting and cleared the council chambers, retaining just the High Councilors, a few honor guards, Ajan and the Human Reed behind, all in order to conclude the day's business.

"Captain Reed, your ship will be part of the 5th fleet, under Commander Khor'tok," said K'mpec, "and Khor'tok will surely call upon your council if our ships cross paths with the Bands, the Andorians, or the Tholians."

"I am at Khor'tok's disposal, High Councilor," said Reed.

"Good," said K'mpec, then Ajan caught his eye, as the woman shifted her weight from one leg to the other. "If you have no objections, I will station Ajan aboard your ship, Captain. Circumstances will surely require you to act in concert with our ships, and Ajan is intimately familiar with our operating procedures against the Gorn."

Reed nodded his agreement at K'mpec's suggestion, and K'mpec said, "Go then, Reed. Time is short. Take your place with the 5th, and play an honorable part in our strike against the Gorn! Qapla'!"

"Qapla'" said Reed, returning K'mpec's salutation, which essentially meant 'Victory', or 'Success', and with that Malcolm and Ajan made their way from the High Council's chambers.

* * *

And just as Malcolm and Ajan left the High Council's chamber, the Uhlans and The Breed cruised through Hegemony space at Warp 4.7, for they were limited by the speed of their slowest ships… not that it really mattered at the moment, for these two Bands relied on stealth this deep in enemy territory, much more so than speed, and they'd already slipped past five Gorn patrols, spotting the Gorn ships on long range sensors and adjusting their course accordingly. They still had days to go before reaching their appointed place though… and given that The Breed and Uhlans had the longest flight time to reach their appointed targets, by the time that they were in position, all other participants would be in position as well.

It was probably just as well that things went smoothly, as this downtime allowed for a great deal of preparation and double checking. As for T'Pol, her previous experience with the Vulcan Navy and her familiarity with the Suurok class cruiser allowed the Vulcan to give a great deal of assistance where needed, despite being one of the newest crewmen in the fleet. Still, she'd done enough for today, pulled a double shift, and her day was over.

"Computer," said T'Pol, accessing the core from a comm station on Deck 3, "locate Captain Tucker."

"CAPTAIN TUCKER IS IN MESS HALL 1."

Upon hearing that bit of information, T'Pol turned on her heels and made way for a turbo-lift bay, only minutes later reaching the mess hall in which Captain Tucker had fought for his life not long past, against Selkar. The room was lightly populated by just three people, and Captain Tucker seated by a large porthole window. The man was scanning through a PADD unit as he chugged some coffee, and after a brief detour to pick up some Vulcan redweed tea, T'Pol joined her mate, taking a seat at the table, without so much as a 'By your leave, Captain.' but then she and Trip were mated now, and that Bond carried numerous privileges.

The man glanced briefly at T'Pol, gave the Vulcan a nod, and then turned his eyes back to the PADD unit.

"How are preparations in the fleet coming along?" said T'Pol.

"We're in good shape, T'Pol. It helps that we're constantly on a war footing, but we've taken on some newbies during our last stop on Delta Vega, and they're a bit slow on the uptake," said Trip, turning to T'Pol and giving the woman an impudent grin.

"Me?" said T'Pol. "Are you talking about me?"

"Noooo, of course not," said Trip, meaning 'Yes'.

The man was purposely baiting her!

"I will remind you that I was qualified to crew a Suurok class cruiser long before you ever set foot on Tek'Xzen, Captain Tucker."

Trip laughed at the signs of his mate's ire, and though he'd not seen much of her the past two days given their workload, just now, irate though she was, T'Pol just looked so damned adorable… and as a gesture of peace Trip set aside his PADD unit, and that bit of it mollified T'Pol quite noticeably.

"So why are you here, T'Pol?" said Trip. "If you're angry with me, and about to ask for transfer to another ship, I'll grant it. Reluctantly."

"You would not dare," said T'Pol, then the Vulcan reconsidered her words. "Well, you should not do it."

"How's Science?"

"The department stands ready to perform its duties," said T'Pol.

"And you?" said Trip.

"Rock steady, Captain."

"Good," said Trip. "You know, a part of me hopes we die out here."

"What? Why?" said T'Pol, confused now, for she sensed no such desires through the psychic Bond she now shared with the man.

"Because if we live through this," said Trip, "I suspect that I'll eventually have to face a very irate Vulcan mother and explain why I dragged her beloved daughter into Hegemony space, and all that after molesting you quite shamelessly for more than a month now."

"That fate can not be avoided, Captain, for I am certain that my mother will wish to meet you at the first opportunity."

"Oh, come on, T'Pol, it's not like we're OFFICIALLY married or anythi—"

"We are more than married, Captain Tucker!" said T'Pol, her eyes on fire. "Understand that fact now, if you did not understand it before."

Trip was startled by T'Pol's intensity at his playful gambit, though he could not help but smile for he'd never seen a predator as cute as T'Pol, but then the man rallied his wits, and said, "Well, just keep in mind, that she may not take to me, T'Pol. She was probably hoping you'd end up with a Vulcan."

"I am certain that you will win her over, Trip. It will be only a matter of time," said T'Pol. "Now, I have just ended my shift. What of your schedule? Perhaps we could sneak away for a time, find some place cozy…"

Just then, the ship's PA system summoned Trip, and T'Pol sighed.

"Duty calls," said Trip, and though the man took the opportunity to steal a kiss from the Vulcan's plump lips, his departure still frustrated T'Pol.

He'd just left the room too, when the mess hall door opened once again, this time to admit Dr. Harper.

"Hello, T'Pol," said Alice.

"Hello."

"What's the matter now, T'Pol?" said Alice, after only the briefest glance at T'Pol's face.

"Nothing," said T'Pol.

"Well," said Alice, speaking even as she made a brief detour by the drink station to pick up a glass of iced tea, "I just saw the captain in the passageway, and I'm guessing he's got something to do with your sour mood. What did he do this time?"

"He did nothing," said T'Pol, "but we have not had any time together the past few days."

"Well, I can't help you there, lassie, but I'll fix you up, post haste," said Alice. "You still on duty?"

"No. Why?"

"Come to my cabin," said Alice.

"Movie night?" said T'Pol.

"Yes," said Alice. "No Mercy: Richard Gere, Kim Basinger, handcuffed together and trapped in the depths of the Louisiana swamps, on the run from a frightening villain! Great movie!"

"All right," said T'Pol, knowing she'd see no sign of her mate this night, for after attending to the matter on the Bridge, the man would sequester himself with Tactical all night long: it was a scheduled meeting.

"Let's take something chocolaty along with us," said Alice. "Chef's Kahlua brownies."

* * *

It had been three days since Reed's ship, Tarron Urr, had left Qo'noS as part of the Klingon strike force, and the days had been relatively busy… it helped that Tarron Urr's crew were veterans who knew their business, but Malcolm had spent much of each day with Ajan, as the Klingon explained the workings of the Klingon Navy, their procedures, their typical tactics against the Gorn, and the ways in which Tarron Urr might best integrate with the Imperial Navy.

"I appreciate the insights, Ajan," said Malcolm at the end of a two hour session, rising to his feet in order to stretch, and then walk to the liquor cabinet.

Say what you will about the Orions, but rank had his privileges among them, and when Malcolm had been assigned the Tarron Urr, that assignment had come with a roomy and luxuriously appointed cabin, a small but well stocked liquor cabinet, an even wider array of drugs, and a stock of luxury foods: Malcolm had destroyed the drugs, sent the foods to the Galley for the crew's use, and retained the liquor for his own.

"Drink?" said Malcolm.

"Sure," said Ajan. "I'll take—"

"You'll take what I give you," said Malcolm. "The liquor cabinet I inherited from the Orions holds an eclectic mix of booze, but nothing I'm familiar with."

Moments later Malcolm handed the Klingon a glass tumbler, and Ajan sipped, and murmured in appreciation.

"This is good," said Ajan, taking scent of the exotic liquor.

"I call it purple #3," said Malcolm, sitting across the coffee table from Ajan. "Now getting back on topic I thin—"

"Enough of that," said Ajan. "We've been at it for hours, so let's leave it for tonight."

"All right," said Malcolm, and the two sat in silence for a while.

They had that in common, they were both comfortable with silence, and for better or worse they were about to have a bit more in common, for Ajan was feeling restless, and thus the Klingon turned to Malcolm… for relief.

"So," said Ajan. "Are you mated to one of your kind?"

"No," said Malcolm, topping off their glasses.

"Then I take it you would not mind mating with one of my kind?" said Ajan.

"Which of your kind? High Councilor K'mpec? Khor'toc, Commander of the 5th?"

"Me," said Ajan, looking at Malcolm through lidded eyes.

"Careful what you ask for, Ajan," said Malcolm, eyes twinkling over the rim of his glass. "You might get a sight more than you bargained for."

Ajan interpreted the man's words in the best possible ways, gave a mirthful grin.

"Promises, promises, Reed, but a Klingon would back up his words, with action!"

"All right then," said Malcolm, taking his feet. "How old are you by the way?"

"Twenty-six," said Ajan, also standing. "Why?"

"I just wanted to crunch some numbers in my head," said Malcolm. "If you're twenty-six, you'll be bragging about this night for another fifty years, more or less, given the typical Klingon lifespan."

Ajan laughed at the man's confidence, even as she ripped her shirt open, sending buttons flying everywhere - she'd regret that, thought Malcolm, when she'd have to sew them back on. For his part, Malcolm unbuttoned his shirt quite carefully, though the sight of Ajan's breasts swaying with her movements was enticing.

Ajan smiled and slid pants down nicely curved hips with proper Klingon disregard for neatness, before stepping on them, to help her stand free of her clothing. For his part, Malcolm stepped free of his pants quite gracefully, and then folded them neatly over the back of his chair, though the sight of the nude Klingon was a welcome sight.

"The fact that you're so fastidious does not inspire me with great confidence, Reed," said Ajan, closing in on the man with the naked grace of a panther, only to stand a foot away from him. "It is a touch too restrained for my liking, and speaks of a meek nature."

"Well, you'll have to be the the judge of that," said Malcolm, reaching out for the Klingon.

Ajan moaned loudly then, for contrary to expectations, the man had grasped each nipple in a vise like grip, and twisted them mercilessly… and here she'd feared that Reed might be too spineless to bed a Klingon properly. He kissed her then, and his hands now squeezed Ajan's breasts with a ferocity which crossed the line from pleasure to pain repeatedly, and Ajan hissed. She should have known better, she should have trusted Reed, given the way the man had fought their first engagement in the gym, not long past. And now this!

"The man constantly surprises me," thought Ajan approvingly, even as her lips hungrily meshed with his.

That thought died out in a plea, as Reed mauled Ajan's breasts with one hand, while he used the other to enter her roughly... Well, if the man sought proof of wetness, he'd found the ocean, and Ajan groaned even as she sunk her teeth into the man's shoulder, drawing blood and a grunt from Malcolm, and then an even more forceful handling of her goodies… and Ajan was on fire now.

She pulled back, looking at Reed with eyes clouded by lust… this one had either bedded Klingons before, or his temperament was simply suited to hers. Klingon eyes and hands greedily sought out Human cock, and found that appendage to be… cute. Nothing against it, you understand, for length and girth were more than adequate, it's just that it lacked the more formidable appearance of a Klingon's cock, the ridges and such.

To Ajan's delight none of that mattered, for when they got down to business - after a measure of biting, hair pulling, and tussling during which the Human had the strength to forcefully submit Ajan - when the man's cock entered the Klingon roughly, Ajan was high as a kite on the usual stew of hormones released during mating by a Klingon, a delightful mix that brought the Klingon off strongly, and repeatedly, in the first five minutes.

Had that been the end of it, Ajan would have been more than satisfied, but the man continued driving himself fiercely inside her while maintaining a delightful full body contact that was not normally a part of Klingon mating, with lips, hands and cock working in concert on the delighted Klingon, but when his time was close, Reed had the good manners to bring it home in Klingon style, ordering Ajan to all fours, grasping a handful of the Klingon's hair to use as a rein, even as his cock drove forcefully inside Ajan... and all that while Reed's other hand clawed and slapped firm Klingon buttocks with a delightful roughness. At the end of it all, Ajan rolled to her back, and looked at Reed with full approval even as her breaths came in a worryingly staggered tempo… and damned that man, he merely grinned back at Ajan, seemingly just at touch flushed after that notable exertion.

"Damn you, Reed!" said Ajan. "I'll get you next time. I swear I will!"

"Doubtful, love," said Malcolm. "On this battlefield, I make the rules."


	13. Chapter 13

**— Chapter 13 —**

* * *

It would be fair to say that Soval was frustrated, but that sensation was not completely unknown to the seasoned diplomat, for Soval had met his fair share of roadblocks on the diplomatic path he'd chosen long ago… still, these Bands were right up there with the most obstinate of them all.

It wasn't even that the Bands were opposed to EarthGov or the High Command, it's just that they seemed to universally consider both governing structures too weak and ineffective to face the challenges presented by the Gorn, and thus considered Soval's diplomatic overtures to be irrelevant, because in truth, the Bands had the sinews of war on dead Vulcan… everything they needed: food, weapons, medical supplies, etc… oh, they made use of what Earth sent because the Bands never wasted anything, but those supply convoys only counted for so much.

That's not to say that anyone was purposely rude to the ambassador, for there was no need to make enemies needlessly, and Soval was well received by the various representatives which the Bands kept standing by on Delta Vega, for each Band had an HQ of sorts and something of a bare bones administrative crew which served to coordinate the workings of the various Bands… that Soval was well received though, did not mean that Soval made any headway in convincing anyone to accept administrative control from EarthGov or the High Command in exile… no, since he'd gotten here, Soval had been listened to politely, and then hustled off politely.

The one bright spot for Soval in this whole enterprise, at least on a personal level, was that the man had fallen into something of an intimate relationship with a Human named Bronte, who served as an attache to the Black Uhlans. Such a dalliance would have been unthinkable before Vulcan died, but Humans and Vulcans had been pushed together by circumstances beyond their control and had seemingly thrown their lot in together, and as a result of that fact, what had once been unthinkable had become, if not common, at least no longer shocking.

And she was something special, Bronte… leggy and slender like a long distance runner, a brunette with a mischievous smile and a keen wit, a woman who knew what she wanted, and what she wanted was Soval. Of course the Vulcan had a choice in the matter, but when the woman pounced on him one evening after a working dinner, much to Soval's surprise, the Vulcan found the sensations engendered by Bronte to be quite agreeable, and at the end of it, Soval, an amusing cynic in the best of times, could at least look in the mirror, and honestly say, "Well, at least I got something done on Delta Vega after all."

This day though, personal achievements and breakthroughs were far from Soval's mind, for there was an air of palpable excitement, easily perceived the moment he left his quarters and moved through Echo One's public spaces.

"Soval!"

Hearing his name, the Vulcan turned to see Bronte walking in his direction. She'd spent the night with him, though she'd left at dawn when her comm unit buzzed insistently.

"Good morning, Bronte," said Soval, hands clasped behind his back, for the Vulcan was still the model of decorum in public, and thus a public embrace, or kiss, was unthinkable. "What is happening here? Everyone seems quite agitated."

"You've not heard. The attack against the Gorn has begun, Soval," said Bronte. "Ninety minutes ago. That's why I was called in early."

Soval nodded, understanding the agitation now, for the Bands were putting everything on the line, and if they fumbled this attack the Bands would likely be gutted, lose their ships, and their lives. They were on death ground in Hegemony space, and they had to win, and win decisively.

Now Soval had served his time in the Vulcan Navy during his misguided youth, and the Vulcan knew that an attack as wide ranging as this would last for days, or weeks, for after the first series of strikes, a game of cat and mouse would play out between the allied combatants and the Gorn, a long running battle along interior lines, in which deception and savagery would be the norm, and tactical defeat but a prelude to annihilation, for the Gorn did not take prisoners, and neither did the Bands, save in unusual cases.

Still, despite knowing better, Soval asked, "How often will we get updates?"

"We get them when we get them, Soval," said Bronte. "Now, would you like some coffee, or tea? Let's hit The Scone Factory. I'm buying."

"In that case, I'll have some hot Ceylon tea and one of their orange blossom scones," said Soval.

"A wise choice, Soval," said Bronte. "Come. Let's hurry, and beat the crowds that rush the place when the night shift ends."

* * *

As it turned out, the Klingons struck the first blow against the Gorn at the appointed hour, and they never even had to leave their former empire in order to do so, for the Gorn had conquered Klingon space as far north as Praxian, as far east as Vok-nagral, fully a third of the Klingon Empire conquered by the reptiles. Now that was a vast amount of space, and though the Gorn were dispersed all through that region, fighting a mobile form of warfare against Klingons still bent on a reconquista of sorts, the reptiles were still tethered to some twenty fixed points in space, nine of which held small Gorn shipyards, towed there to perform repairs on battle damaged ships, while the rest of those points were a mix of munitions depots, troop transport points, medical hospitals and some massive storage depots.

There was no pretense of honor where the Klingons were concerned, for the Gorn had forfeited honorable treatment by bombarding at least eighteen Klingon worlds with orbital nuclear strikes, and the Klingons aimed to balance the equation here, at least to some degree, and so the first targets were the hospitals and the troop depots. Those facilities which were housed in space were obliterated by massed torpedo and disruptor fire, while the planet bound sites were eradicated by tactical nukes. The shipyards were next, and then the munitions depots, and lastly, the massive storage depots, and through all this, the Klingon High Council aided the mission by ordering a mass attack all along the line of battle separating Klingon from Gorn, all in order to tie up Hegemony ships, and give the 5th, 6th and 9th a chance to accomplish their goals.

The Gorn had eventually responded in numbers, of course they had, and they'd forced the Klingon force to a set piece battle, and though the 5th Klingon fleet was badly battered, and the 6th and 9th fleets essentially wiped out, the entire enterprise had been well worth it in a strategic sense, for they'd crippled the Hegemony's logistical chain in such a manner that it was equivalent to dozens of battlefield victories. Until that logistical backbone could be rebuilt, the Gorn were hampered in many, many ways, and though they were still a threat in a tactical sense when met on the field of battle, they would not be able to project power effectively, and thus expand their holdings into Klingon space, for quite some time… and that time would never come if the Klingon High Council had it's way, for in the coming days the Klingon High Council would send a half dozen other fleets, to expand on the damage done by the 5th, 6th and 9th.

* * *

The Tholians had joined the attack as well, and they hit more than thirty targets, both within territory formerly part of the Tholian Assembly, and well outside of it, and if the details of their victories and their defeats remained a mystery, the nineteen hundred Gorn ship signs headed for Tholian space told of a fierce battle in that quarter, one which would likely be undecided for quite some time.

* * *

As for the Andorian force which brought together the Andorian Bands Udullon, Se'shel'n and Merr'maj, with three hundred military vessels manned by Imperial Guards under the command of Thy'lek Shran, that force attacked their six pre-selected targets closest to Andorian space, for unlike the dispositions used in both Klingon and Tholian space, the Gorn commanders here had massed their resources in a fewer number of more formidable strongholds, considering that the wiser course of action.

And here, the Emperor's wisdom in appointing Shran to command this mission became apparent, for while the Guards engaged the Gorn in bitter ship to ship combat, the Guards actions freed the Bands to bomb the Gorn facilities… three huge shipyards, a troop staging site set on a barren planetoid, two massive storage depots and four Wings of Hegemony ships, 174 of them, all wiped out at the cost of 201 Andorian ships, some manned by Guards, others by the Andorian Bands. All in all, it had been something worth doing, and with their mission accomplished, the Andorians turned for home in order to repair battle damage, and replace casualties.

* * *

Among the Bands, SoKoun, the Sons of Silence and the Renegades hit their four assigned targets, and suffered notable losses in the process, for the Gorn put up a spirited defense in each case… now logic would have argued that these three Bands head for home, but when four more Bands, Te'Kres, Coffin Cheaters, Warlocks and the Andorian Band Trijan, all of which had been on patrol runs for weeks and thus been left out of this mission, came late to the battle, the newly coalesced fleet composed of seven Bands decided to carry on, for there was still work to do, and Gorn to kill.

* * *

As for the Black Uhlans and The Breed, they were the last to attack, for they were deepest in Hegemony space, and they'd purposely waited as massed Gorn ships headed for the Klingon, Tholian and Andorian borders soon after the strikes began. Even waiting for the departure of so many ships seemed to have served little purpose, for long range sensor scans showed that the departure of some 3,100 Gorn ships from the Gorn homeworlds, still left more than 2,800 ships behind… against that, the Uhlans and The Breed brought just 415 ships, combined…

"Well, shit," said John Mosby, commander of The Breed, "it's not like we expected this to be easy."

"We did not," said Tucker. "So we're agreed on the plan?"

"Oh, yeah," said Mosby.

The plan called for The Breed to make the first move… they were heavily optimized for speed and stealth, and if The Breed couldn't outgun the Gorn, or outlast them in extended combat, they could outrun them - they'd proved that repeatedly.

"Good. Christ, I can't believe we're looking at the Gorn homeworlds," said Tucker, for he'd never been this deep in Hegemony space before.

"Been here twice before," said Mosby. "Near as we can figure it, the Gorn evolved on L1, then spread out to L2, L3 and L5, because L1 is the most heavily populated, the most heavily industrialized."

"Well, that's the one to focus on, Mosby. L1's the plum, and the rest are targets of opportunity."

"That's how I see it too. Listen, I don't make it out, you can have my old lady," said Mosby with a grin, and though Mosby did not notice it, the Vulcan manning Tek'Xzen's Science station swiveled her head around and looked pointedly at Mosby's image on the video monitor, and then Tucker, upon hearing that offer made to Tucker.

"No thanks," said Tucker, laughing at Mosby's offer.

"Oh, come on," said Mosby. "Why not?"

"She's got a hair trigger temper that would frighten a Klingon," said Tucker. "I don't need that in my life. Hell, put her in a shuttle and drop her off on L1 next time you're out this way. She'll end the war in a flash."

"Or maybe the Gorn kill her," said Mosby, a faraway look in his eyes. "You know, I think I'll do just that, if I live through this run. I'll have to sedate her the whole trip here though, have her bound tightly…"

"Whatever it takes," said Tucker with a smile, and Mosby laughed.

"We've had some good times the past five years, Trip," said Mosby. "Souped up a lot of engines, shut down a lot of bars, got in a lot of fights, bedded a lot of crazy women."

"That we have, John," said Trip, fondly recalling the memories, and again, the Vulcan studied Tek'Xzen's captain closely, for Tucker seemed strangely nostalgic about those days. "You watch your tail, and we'll do all that again.

A soft cough from the Science station, as the Vulcan cleared her throat.

"Well, we'll do most of it again," said Trip, turning his head to gaze fondly at the Vulcan.

"Oh, yeah," said Mosby. "We're off then."

"Good hunting, John," said Tucker.

* * *

"God damn it, Evans," said Alice, "I've got T'Pol! Go see to the Comm officer."

"Aye, Doc," said Evans, though he had his doubts the Comm officer still lived - something the angle of her neck - it was probably for the best that there were backups for every member of the Bridge, save the captain, standing by and ready to take the place of the fallen.

Tek'Xzen's Bridge was in a state of controlled chaos, but at least they were still in once piece… for now.

* * *

It had all begun as planned, with The Breed making a high speed pass by the Gorn homeworlds… now you have to understand that given The Breed's stealth and speed, and given the approach vector they'd used which gave them cover behind the system's sun, the Gorn had 57 seconds warning of The Breed's approach, which meant they had no time to react, though hundreds of military ships orbited L1 alone, and thousands were spread throughout the entire system.

No, The Breed came in at full speed, 194 ships running the gauntlet in a column, the computer running the entire show along a pre-planned course, each ship with the ability to fire nukes launching their payloads automatically at the appropriate time, in response to computer commands, all while the crews fired their phasers at any Gorn ship in their firing solution. All in all, the pass by L1 was a success, with a few dozen of The Breed's ships targeted and damaged to some degree by scattered Gorn fire, but in return, the ships lobbed off 145 nuclear missiles, all aimed at either a highly populated area, or a heavily industrialized area.

The subsequent pass by L2, nearly ten minutes later, was a mixed success, for The Breed was met by Gorn ships, fully alerted now, and The Breed lost 64 ships, even at the speeds they were running, though they did a number on L2 as well.

L3, L4 and L5 were next on the hit list, but they were also optional, and Mosby called off the run at that point, for he rightly judged that a pass by L3, L4 and then L5 would cost him most of the ships under his command. Instead, The Breed took a vector which would see them leave the system at high warp, with hundreds of Gorn ships in tow, and each ship which followed The Breed was one less ship for the Uhlans to deal with… and if the Gorn should slack in their pursuit, The Breed would turn right back, and perhaps make another run for the missed targets, or try to connect with the Uhlans.

* * *

"It's ok, T'Pol," said Alice, looking down at the almond eyed Vulcan, as T'Pol's lips moved soundlessly. "I've got you."

Alice worked quickly but smoothly now, her hands seemingly moving of their own accord as Alice addressed the Vulcan in comforting tones… Tek'Xzen's Bridge had been hit by what the Bands called Ball Lightning, a Gorn weapon which drove a ten foot energy ball through shields, and through the ship, damaging electronics in the wake of its passage, and if it had not been purposely made to destroy organic flesh and bone, well, it still did a good job of it, and Tek'Xzen's Comm officer and T'Pol were silent witness to that fact, along with dozens of other crewmen on Tek'Xzen.

Hypospray loaded with EB-Hex9, Alice touched the spray to T'Pol's neck, moving on to load the next drug, while dividing her attention between the drug ampules, T'Pol, and the other two medics on the Bridge, working under her authority. The captain had been giving orders this whole time, but now the man fell silent, and when Alice turned to look at Tucker, she saw him looking back at her… he raised brow at Alice just then in a gesture reminiscent of T'Pol, and Alice would have dismissed that gesture for an affectation, if not for the ties between him and the Vulcan.

Alice shook her head, and said, "It's not good, but she's got a shot. When I know for sure, you'll be the first I tell."

Tucker nodded, and turned his attention to his Tactical officer, for that officer had just addressed the captain.

* * *

Just moments after The Breed had made its pass and bombardment of L1, the Uhlans made their run at L1 from a different vector, and though some of the Gorn in orbit round L1 had chased The Breed, hundreds had remained behind, and they were spoiling for a fight by the time the Uhlans had come on the scene.

Now the Uhlan pass had come from beneath the sun, on a different trajectory than the one taken by The Breed, all so that their pass would see them strike the other side of L1 with their nuclear bombardment, and where The Breed had made their pass in an orderly column, the Uhlans came forward in a chaotic mob, relying on shields and constant maneuvering to minimize the damage taken by incoming Gorn ordnance. Still, despite their best attempts, 74 Uhlans were blotted from space before they even reached L1, but they got the job done there, and turned 132 targets on L1 into smoking craters before plotting a course out of the system, 147 Uhlan ships now running from hundreds of pursuing Gorn.

The flight for safety was a brutal thing, which would see another 52 Uhlan ships fall to the Gorn, the Uhlan's strength more than halved by this mission… but callous as it seemed, the losses suffered by The Breed and Black Uhlans were unimportant, for the loss of 190 ships and some 14,500 crewmen was more than balanced out by the damage inflicted on the Gorn at L1, and L2.

In any case, more volunteers waited back on Delta Vega, and the Bands inventory of ships was constantly expanding, through 'confiscation' of Orion ships, through purchase using funds acquired from the sale of goods carried on said Orion ships, ship donations from the Andorian Emperor, and new construction in the reopened Vulcan shipyard, which now built and retro-fitted ships with integrated Vulcan, Andorian, Human, Gorn and Tholian tech acquired by the Bands in the past five years. When all these things were considered, the loss of men and material was daunting, but nothing like the losses the Gorn had just endured, which mounted in the billions of lives, and irreplaceable material assets.

* * *

"How is she?" said Trip, standing above T'Pol's bed in SickBay, and looking at his mate's sleeping face.

"Doing well," said Alice, looking at Trip. "I thought she was a goner for a while, but she fought her way back from the edge. That Vulcan stamina pulled her through."

"How long till she's back on her feet?"

"A few days," said Alice. "If the Ball Lighting doesn't kill you immediately, or soon after from the shock done to the nervous system, recovery is fairly brisk. Anyway, I need her conscious by the next movie night."

Trip chuckled at that, for T'Pol had told him all about movie night, and then said, "What's on tap this week?"

"The Last Warrior, with Gary Graham and Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa," said Alice.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, as World War II draws to a close, U.S. operative Gibb(Gary Graham) is stationed alone on a tiny, remote island, where he spies on the Japanese navy," said Alice. "Unexpectedly, Japan's military learns of Gibb's existence and a crew of elite commandos attempts to kill the American, leading to a showdown of steel, and will."

"Hmmm," said Trip. "Sounds interesting. Maybe I'll make that screening."

"The more the merrier," said Alice.

Trip nodded, and looked back down at T'Pol, for the Vulcan moved a bit.

"You, Phlox, your medics, you all did a great job during this run," said Trip, looking at Alice now.

"We did what we could," said Alice, "but we lost a lot of people, and others are hurt and in need of physical rehabilitation."

"We all knew what we were getting into, coming here, joining the Bands," said Trip.

"We knew."

"We never talked before you joined the Uhlans," said Trip. "Why are you here?"

Alice considered the question for a time, then she said, "Truth is, I had nowhere else to go. Here at least I'm doing something worthwhile, I'm saving lives."

"That you are," said Trip. "And now I owe you for saving my mate's life."

* * *

**Those of you crushing on Soval should see the 1989 movie mentioned here, The Last Warrior, to see a young Soval in action.


	14. Chapter 14

**Gross Gorn sex up ahead. It was inspired by Red River Hog's passionate and... stimulating, description of amphibian breeding practices. Now, although I've decided to go with a classy, amphibian style mating procedure, rather than a raunchy reptilian mating procedure involving hemipenes, you should still proceed cautiously, and be ready to close your browser window in time to avoid psychological damage.

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 **— Chapter 14 —**

* * *

Sillat, a Gorn Priest-King, moved through dimly lit tunnels beneath the surface of the Gorn homeworld with dozens of other Priest-Kings in tow, even as tens of thousands other Priest-Kings moved with a similar purpose within the mantle of the two Gorn planets which the Humans had just recently bombarded, as all these Gorn made way for the ancient subterranean spawning pools… above their heads, the Gorn homeworlds still groaned, smoked, and burned from the after effects of the Human attack, when hundreds of nuclear missiles had delivered their payloads and wiped out some five billion Gorn lives in the blink of an eye. Now where the Gorn differed from other species is that they saw nothing worthy of censure in the Human attack, nor in its success. The entire purpose of Nemesis' passage in the Black Sun phase, was to break what could be broken, kill what could be killed, and in the process purge all weakness from the worlds within reach of the Hegemony.

That's not to say that the Gorn would forgive this slight. They'd largely overlooked the Human Bands for they'd perceived the Klingons and Tholians to be a bigger threat, but neither of those species had been capable of conducting this sort of attack upon the Gorn homeworlds. Such a thing had not happened for a long time, for the records stored deep beneath the ground said that only the Vazallians had managed that same feat some five cycles past, 150 thousand years ago, and as ably as the Vazallians had conducted that raid, they'd not survived the rest of the 33 year cycle in which the Black Sun rode high, for the Gorn had wiped out that species just before Nemesis passed, and the Black Sun fell… no matter: Human, Klingon, Tholian or Vulcan, even Gorn, they all would face the test posed by Nemesis, and either pass and thrive, or fail and be extinguished.

But first, the losses suffered during the Human attack would be recouped, and thus the journey of the Priest-Kings, en masse, to the ancient spawning pools, for under the auspices of Nemesis, the young spawned now would reach adulthood in seven years, rather than the normally required span of thirty-three years. Not that these young were necessary, for billions more Gorn survived on the other three planets within the Gorn homeworld system, but these new lives about to be spawned were a symbolic response to the grievous losses taken recently.

And thus, one by one, the Priest-Kings entered the vast breeding pools all over the Gorn homeworlds, all releasing copious streams of semen as they moved through the warm waters towards the other end of the breeding pools, while lined along the walls, waited multitudes of Gorn females… once the Priest-Kings had moved through the waters and exited the breeding pools, the Gorn females dived into the breeding pools, swimming slowly through the warm waters for hours with languid sweeps of their tails, as their opened cloaca channeled the semen rich water over the hundreds of eggs which they each carried internally, thus fertilizing those eggs over the course of a few hours. Days later, the Gorn females would all return to the breeding pools in order to expel millions of fertilized eggs in these same waters, and begin anew the cycle of Gorn regeneration, in a process which would be repeated many times in the coming weeks, in order that the Gorn might replenish their numbers.

* * *

"Trip," said T'Pol, unexpectedly coming across her mate in the storage space adjoining conference room 1.

"Hey, baby," said Trip, who'd been digging through some of the panels which serviced the audio/video equipment of the conference room. "How are you?"

"I am well," said T'Pol. "What are you doing?"

"The video feed to the conference room is plagued with quality shortfalls," said Trip, "and Tactical has a meeting scheduled here in a bit, so I thought I'd check things out."

"I see," said T'Pol, moving a bit closer when her mate stepped away from those panels, and closer to her.

"Having a rough day. I need sugar," said Trip, and the man stole a kiss from the Vulcan's plump lips, then another, and then one more. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to pick up some PADD units," said T'Pol, stilling her desire to reach out for more kisses… they were on duty, after all.

Unfortunately for T'Pol, the Bond betrayed her desires, and T'Pol's mate kissed T'Pol once more, and this time deeply. That kiss lasted long enough that T'Pol's knees weakened, and the Vulcan pressed her back to the bulkhead. Had that been the end of it, all would have been well, but the captain's hands began roaming T'Pol's body quite freely, and her body responded.

Quite brazenly, Trip slid the concealed zipper running down the front of T'Pol's uniform all the way down, freeing the Vulcan's breasts so that his lips might taste them, even as the man gave his hands unconscionable freedom to grope the Vulcan, one hand sliding inside her catsuit to cup her buttocks, while the other hand rubbed velvet soft skin, and found wetness at the front, and the combination of hands and lips was painfully arousing for the poor Vulcan.

T'Pol panted and pressed her head back against the bulkhead, even as her left hand caressed her mate's head, encouraging the man in his work. The old T'Pol, the Vulcan officer serving with the High Command would have been mortified by her conduct, but the Trellium poisoned Vulcan saw nothing untoward here… she'd suffered too much, lost too much, and the fact that she'd received a second chance which came with a Bonded mate to boot, well that was more than T'Pol would have dared ask for in her wildest dreams not long ago… and so the thought of denying her mate, or herself, anything of their connection was unthinkable.

Just then, the conference room door slid aside with an audible hiss, and T'Pol's eyes widened in alarm, even as her mate's eyes twinkled with mischief and a grin lit his face.

"Shhhh," whispered Trip, even his hands continued working on T'Pol.

T'Pol was mortified, but saw no way out of this trap… she was already burning up and close to orgasm, and the risk of discovery, quite illogically, only brought her closer and closer to her peak. He sensed it too, her mate, and Trip kissed her deeply before turning his lips back to her breasts, all while his hands kept working their magic… the result was quite predictable, despite the fact that both heard voices coming from just outside the storage space they occupied. Within minutes T'Pol reached the brink and her mate looked up, pressed his hand against her mouth, and smiled as T'Pol crested, and then orgasmed strongly. The only thing which kept their presence a secret through it all was that as T'Pol trembled and shook, she also sunk her teeth into her mate's hand to stifle her moans.

Trip grimaced at the bite, then grinned, watching his mate spasm for a while and then finally fall still, and when it was all over Trip began laughing, just barely stifling the sound by burying his face at the base of T'Pol's neck. Eventually, he stopped laughing, and kissed T'Pol's lips once more, then slid her zipper up to her neck, and nodded encouragingly to the Vulcan. Within a minute, T'Pol looked remarkably unruffled once more, for as her emotional control had improved, so had her ability to mask her emotions.

"Captain," said crewman Marks, as the captain and T'Pol came out of the stock room each carrying a box of PADD units.

"Hey," said Trip, looking at the three crewmen. "What's going on?"

"Just setting up for Tactical's meeting, sir," said crewman Ivers.

"Well carry on," said Trip.

"We just needed some PADD units," said T'Pol, looking round at each crewman, and giving explanations where none were warranted, for both she and the captain outranked the crewmen. "We have them now, so we will be leaving."

"Yes, sir," said Marks, looking at T'Pol.

Trip just smirked at T'Pol, and said, "Come on."

"PADD units my ass," said crewman Kovac with a smile a few moments later, for this Polish girl was no fool. "T'Pol could barely walk the room, and she was also flushed a fetching shade of green. Speculations, gentlemen?"

And with that the three crewmen resumed their duties, though a playful speculation of what had occurred in the store room was bandied about for the better part of an hour.

As for Trip and T'Pol, they made a bad call all around in deciding to take a short cut through Deck 2/Section 5/Utility Room 9 and in the process they came across Alice and crewmen Phillips in some preliminary stage of foreplay, what with Alice in the process of pinning Phillip's bound hands to the bulkhead, in preparation for… no, never mind!

"Phillips, get the hell out of here!" said Trip.

"Yes, sir," said Phillips, and the man made a speedy getaway even though his wrists were still bound together.

Trip watched him go, then spun on Alice.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Alice?" said Trip, watching the doctor closely.

"I don't know what you mean?" said Alice, as cool as a cucumber.

"Jesus Christ, Alice," said Trip. "I know this isn't StarFleet, but you were about to do The Spuds MacKenzie with Phillips! Don't lie, I recognize the setup!"

"The Spuds MacKenzie?" said T'Pol, looking curiously from Alice to Trip, then back to Alice.

"And what if I was?" said Alice, staring back at Trip defiantly, even as she pocketed the two aligator clips hooked up to a small battery pack: those were intended for Phillips's nipples.

"He's 24, Alice! He's not ready for it yet!"

"That's not your decision to make," said Alice. "It's his. And you're a fine one to talk! I hear you introduced T'Pol to the Tellarite Maneuver!"

"And what if I did?"

"She's a Vulcan, you daft fool! Think what it will do to her emotional control. You need to stop doing that to her!"

"Nonsense! Don't listen to her, Trip! My control is just fine, Alice," said T'Pol, her rushed words an attempt to forestall her mate's heated response, and more importantly, make it clear to her mate that the Tellarite Maneuver must surely remain a fixture in their intimate encounters.

"What T'Pol and I do for fun is none of you business, Alice," said Trip. "Now Phillips is too young for The Spuds MacKenzie! You will curb that shit, doctor, or I'll see you in the Brig."

"Fine, fine," grumbled Alice, shooting a dark look Trip's way, after which she gave the man a wicked grin. "Still, given how often you end up in the SickBay, might be a good idea to stay on my good side. I'd hate to make a mistake in the operating room, you hear?"

"Yeah, I hear," said Trip. "Now get out of here."

"Well, I'm off now," said Alice, as if that thought originated with her, and with that Alice scrammed.

With a last look at Alice, Trip and T'Pol made way for the turbo-lift bays, and moments later they stepped into the tube, both of them facing forwards. The tube door closed and the lift began moving before T'Pol finally spoke.

"So…" said T'Pol. "The Spuds MacKenzie?"

Trip sighed, lowered his head just as the lift came to a stop, and the door opened.

"We'll do it tonight if you like. I'll get the gear I need by then," said Trip, raising his head to look straight ahead. "But no judgments!"

"Agreed," said T'Pol, after which the Vulcan stepped from the lift, to go about her duties.

* * *

It was something of a celebration on Delta Vega, for despite running losses of some 30% overall, the various Bands involved in the attack on the Gorn were returning to home base victorious. There would be tons of sensor data to analyze, and all that would take weeks to accomplish even with computers doing the lion's share of the work, and even before that, deaths would be recorded and bodies dealt with honorably, grieving just a part of the process… none of this was new to the members of the Bands, for one always took losses against the Gorn. For now though, all that could wait…

"No, Soval, no!" said Bronte. "Stop it!"

The woman was annoyed with Soval just now, for the Vulcan used logic in an attempt to make the unpalatable, seem reasonable.

"I just don't see why you can't stay longer on Delta Vega, Soval. You just don't want to stay with me. You want to leave!"

"Now you know that is not true, Bronte," said Soval, "but I am in service to the High Command. I have no function here on Delta Vega if the Bands will not seek genuine partnership with EarthGov and the High Command."

Bronte heard the logic, but would accept none of it apparently, so Soval tried another tactic.

"Anyway, I do not have to leave right away," said Soval. "Look, it will be another week before all of the Bands assemble here, and then no doubt they'll pool the entirety of their sensor telemetry in order to paint a cohesive picture of this campaign. I'll need a copy of that data to take back with me, and I'll also try to speak to the various captains on Delta Vega during this time, but I will eventually have to leave, Bronte, though I'll still be here for three weeks or so."

"Well, I guess I'm not a good enough reason to stay longer than that," said Bronte, and illogically, Soval found the woman's petulance adorable.

"I have my duties, Bronte," said Soval. "I can not just lay about this place indefinitely, no matter how pleasant my stay."

"Hmmmpf," said Bronte, refusing to look at Soval now.

Soval reached out and brushed a strand of Bronte's long brown hair aside in order to gently squeeze her shoulder, but Bronte would not be mollified, so Soval reached forth with his other hand and cupped Bronte's full breast… and Bronte sighed, for despite the age difference between them the sex was unbelievable, and the woman did not have the strength to deny herself the least bit of it, or of Soval, if he truly meant to leave Delta Vega soon.

"Well, if you're gonna molest me, just do it," said Bronte, "and I'll try my best to put up with your twisted Vulcan desires!"

Bronte didn't know why she even bothered with deception, because quite soon Soval would know the lies in her words and know of her desires for him and the things he did to her, but Bronte supposed that she was just being obstinate… she and Soval were so well matched that Bronte fairly despaired at the thought of his departure, and just then the hand which had massaged Bronte's breast reached out to touch the psi-points on the woman's face.

"My mind to your mind," said Soval, initiating a mind meld, "our thoughts are one… my heart to your heart, our desires entwined…"

Soval repeated that short mantra twice more, and just like that, Bronte felt the Vulcan's psyche meld with hers even as Soval lowered his hand, the man now suddenly 'closer' to her than if he'd managed to crawl under her very skin… and there was no need for words now for their minds were one, and Bronte opened the front of her shorty kimono for she now knew that Soval desired it, even as Soval gently pressed Bronte to the thickly carpeted floor, for he knew that Bronte desired it, and their movements seemed a graceful dance in slow motion, the woman adjusting her position so that the Vulcan could draw closer, and then adjusting her position once again so that Soval could enter her, her involuntary gasp of pleasure reflected in her mind a dozen times stronger, as Soval began moving within Bronte.

It might have seemed odd to an outsider looking on at the sexual congress between Bronte and Soval, for the their movements were slow and sensual, punctuated now and then by an almost palpable tension as Soval applied firm pressure in response to impulses perceived from his lover, or as Bronte tensed her body or positioned her body just so to apply maximum tension against Soval, all as each lover tried their best to bring the other to orgasm in a pleasant contest which truly had no losers…

And one would think that Bronte would have an edge in that contest, her relative youth and beauty giving her advantage here and enabling her to push Soval over the edge, but the Vulcan must have counted sheep to delay the inevitable, because Soval brought Bronte off three times before allowing himself that same pleasure, and when the two locked eyes afterward there was no need for words… though when Soval withdrew from her, Bronte felt only a hollow emptiness that was not to be denied by the pleasure she'd just given, and received… it was not just, it was not fair that she should lose Soval so soon, and Bronte now resolved to do whatever it took in order to avoid that fate.


	15. Chapter 15

**— Chapter 15 —**

* * *

"…and now we return to our extended coverage of the recent raids on Hegemony space, conducted by a joint task force composed of Klingons, Tholians, Andorians and Humans," said the talking head fronting the cable news channel on Earth. "Next up we have a real time presentation from Delta Vega, giving us all a broad sweep of the moves made by this alliance during the course of this campaign."

The news nets had such coverage eating up the majority of the day, detailing the genesis of this joint mission with the capture of a Priest-King by the Black Uhlans, and the subsequent psychic interrogation of the Gorn by a Vulcan named Selkar, on Captain Tucker's orders. Furthermore, it seemed that on Captain Tucker's orders, the tactical data acquired from the Priest-King was shared openly with all, thus leading to the widest ranging attempt to blunt the Hegemony's aggressive drive to flog the known universe.

Though it was all of interest to T'Les, the part which drew her most was the mention of the Black Uhlans, for T'Les knew that T'Pol was now a member of the Uhlans. T'Pol had sent her mother a brief message saying just that, shortly before the Uhlans kicked off this entire firestorm against the Hegemony, and that had been the only communication between mother and daughter since T'Pol had left Earth. Even now T'Les had no idea if T'Pol lived, or not, for a fierce set of flares from Earth's sun interfered with all civilian communications networks, and the few comm streams capable of powering through that interference were swamped and overloaded as tens of thousands of people from Earth reached out to Delta Vega for news of loved ones in the Bands, thus dooming the entire process of communication to failure.

T'Les tried to be patient, she really did, but although news of her daughter's death would devastate the Vulcan, the uncertainty was also quite unbearable… and so T'Les had taken personal time off work in order to view the coming presentation in hopes of finding out something about her daughter's fate... and now came the presentation, transmitted live from Delta Vega and picked up outside Earth's system by the Vulcan Navy, which passed the comm stream ship to ship, through the interference caused by Earth's sun while augmenting the video stream the entire time in order to produce a serviceable transmission.

And so T'Les remained glued to the conference which ran through the day, detailing the overall course of the campaign and then following that presentation with input from the various Bands which had participated in the action, as each group of Bands which acted together took the stage together, for a question and answer session on the course of it all from their various viewpoints. While all that was interesting enough, it was when The Breed and the Black Uhlans began to take the stage that T'Les truly perked up, though she still had the presence of mind to press the RECORD button on her video unit.

The Breed was the first to take the stage, with John Mosby, commander of The Breed, taking a seat with his XO, his Science officer, and his Tactical officer by his side. Minutes later, Charles Tucker took the stage, flanked by his Tactical officer, Selkar the Vulcan psychic, and Tek'Xzen's Science officer — and at that entrance, T'Les just about jumped out of her skin! That was T'Pol up onstage for Science!

Oh, it was so good to see T'Pol again, and T'Les climbed off the couch in order to kneel a few feet from her video monitor, just so she'd miss nothing of T'Pol's appearance! There she was, T'Pol, her little girl, and there was something odd about her now, that much was clear right off the bat… it took T'Les a few seconds to figure it all out, for it was noticeable in T'Pol's body language, in the close up camera sweeps of her face, and it was something which T'Les had not seen in T'Pol for the longest time. It was an understated pride...

Yes, seeing T'Pol now was the same as seeing her before the Gorn attack on Vulcan… gone was the subtle hangdog slump to her shoulders, gone was the broken look on her face, gone was the fragile look in her eyes… rather, T'Pol's back was straight, her face was properly composed and serene, her eyes were calm and collected, and if there was still a visible measure of pain in those eyes, well that understandable, given all she'd gone through. T'Pol was herself again! Somewhere out there, in the endless darkness of space, in the long hours on watch, and in the frightening reality of battling for one's life against the Gorn, T'Pol had found herself again!

Unbeknown to her, T'Les was crying now, something she'd not done since her own mother had died before her eyes in a vehicle accident, so very long ago… and yet the tears now ran down the Vulcan's face unhindered, for the pain which had consumed T'Pol the past five years had been horrible to witness… but now, look at her! A phoenix reborn!

The question and answer session began without further ado, and following the flow of conversation distracted T'Les enough to center the Vulcan even as she dried her tears a bit self-consciously, and though T'Les' mind followed the questions and answers intently, the Vulcan's eyes constantly drifted back to her daughter.

As it was, the presentation moved along at a brisk pace, and it was a fairly routine matter until one questioner, a reporter from Earth, said, "Hayley Smith, New York Times. If the estimates of the Gorn casualties caused by your attack on their homeworlds is accurate, how do you feel about taking some five billion Gorn lives? Captains, that question is for both of you, if you'd be kind enough to answer."

Mosby just shook his head and snorted, then said, "I feel just fine about it."

"Really?" said the reporter. "No moral qualms about killing some five billion Gorn?"

"None," said Mosby.

That question seemed to irritate Captain Tucker though, and the man cut in.

"John, let me take this," said Tucker, looking at Mosby.

"All yours," said Mosby with a smile, for he could tell that Trip was pissed.

"Lady," said Tucker, "why don't you stick around after this presentation. I'll take a shuttle and ferry your candy ass out to Vulcan. We'll fly over the entire planet at low altitude, and then I'll set the shuttle down in any of Vulcan's major cities. You can see dessicated Vulcan corpses all the way to the horizon, and you can walk for days before you leave these cities, and you'll see Vulcan remains every step of the way, because there was no way to dispose of that many bodies, and no one left to do it."

"Yes, well—" said the reporter.

"I'm not finished speaking," said Tucker. "Eleven billion people died on Vulcan when the Gorn attacked the planet, and they died in madness, killing each other off in a Trellium induced killing frenzy. So don't play me a fucking violin over Gorn casualties, cause I don't give a shit. They got what they had coming. Now, you have any other questions?"

"Just one," said the reporter. "What do you think the odds of the Gorn coming after us on Earth, after your little fiasco?"

"About the same as they were before our raid," said Tucker. "In case you're still confused, the Gorn plan to torch every sector of space within their reach. It's their calling you see, and sooner or later they'll come for Earth because they always meant to do just that, and the sooner that EarthGov and the High Command pulls their heads from their respective asses, the better. What else?"

"Nothing," said the reporter, and the question and answer bit continued with other reporters chiming in.

For once, Captain Tucker's surprisingly passionate words on behalf of Vulcan had entirely drawn T'Les' attention from her daughter, and the view of the Vulcan faces as the camera panned the audience, was sobering, and grim… made sense though, for the Vulcans serving with the Bands had no cognitive distance between what happened five years ago, and now. They passed Vulcan on every flight towards Hegemony space.

This Human, Tucker, interested T'Les… and apparently he interested T'Pol as well, for T'Les noticed the intensity in her daughter's eyes when she looked at the man. She'd not displayed that sort of focus with any other, not the people asking the questions, not Mosby or his men, not Tek'Xzen's Tactical officer. No, it was apparent that T'Pol was focused on Tucker like a laser beam, and T'Les supposed that they were lovers. Understandable enough, given the circumstances, and this Tucker seemed a better cut of man than she'd attracted for a long time, so T'Les had no problems with that fact, if true… perhaps he'd even played a role in T'Pol's rehabilitation, and if so the man had T'Les' undying gratitude.

The presentation eventually ended, and T'Les got her last glimpse of her daughter as T'Pol exited the stage, after which T'Les spent the rest of the night watching and rewatching the parts of the presentation which featured T'Pol, and for the first time in a long time, T'Les slept deeply and peacefully that night, T'Pol her last thought before losing consciousness.

* * *

**Ok, as a sample of the input I've received on BSR, here's some I received yesterday:

First we have this gem from LML: "Oy, Guv'ner, how's about another spicy scene or two with Malcolm, or at least some slap and tickle, what, what? Get on with it then, and mind, I'm watching!" — ahhh... right-o, love.

Then we have: "Killing T'Les would make the naming of the child in the prologue more poignant. You should kill her in a good way though... Maybe have one of those action sequences from the 90's, where you show T'Les slipping into some camo Army pants, slip on a shirt, do some karate katas, tie on a headband, and all that as an inspirational song plays in the background. Yeah, as I see her, she's definitely wearing a headband torn from her own tank top and she's screaming as she sets Gorn jelly on fire, then blow her up while she's attacking the Gorn spawn with a flamethrower or something." — ummm, ok… thanks for the suggestion, MDF.

Great stuff there, great suggestions!


	16. Chapter 16

— **Chapter 16 —**

* * *

The work of repairing ships damaged in the recent push against the Gorn progressed at a frantic pace even as the presentation of the campaign was conducted for the public, and the work would easily go on for weeks, and probably months, with the very worst of the ships simply cannibalized for useful parts after which the battered hulls would be scrapped, melted and reforged anew into something useful. All that didn't mean that the Bands laid about idly, for not all Bands had been involved in the campaign, and thus not all Bands had taken heavy damage, so they continued their various missions uninterrupted. Even among the participating Bands there were still many functional ships to draw upon, and The Breed and Uhlans soon sent ships out there once more to conduct reconnaissance against the Gorn, and given their stealthy nature they went deepest into Hegemony space, though now they went in small teams of two or three ships, no more than that, for their goal was reconnaissance, not combat.

Tucker's ship, Tek'Xzen was back at Delta Vega though, still undergoing a number of repairs, for as the Uhlan flagship she was the biggest, the fastest and the most fearsome, so Captain Tucker had considered it his duty at the time to keep Tek'Xzen always in the forefront of battle, in order to lead the Uhlans from the front in the bold manner of Alexander, rather then with the unequaled cunning of Hannibal.

So there was much to do with Tek'Xzen undergoing repairs, though the endless work was disrupted occasionally, such as today, when a Klingon cruiser was detected on course for Delta Vega. Once, the sight of a Klingon cruiser would have caused unease in Human crews, but no more… once one fought the Gorn, all other species seemed far less menacing, so the various Bands simply sent dispatches back to Delta Vega telling of the Klingon ship, and continued on about their business. Now, some ten days after the Klingon ship was first detected by the Bands, the Klingon cruiser, Tar'Dak, entered the Vulcan star system, and began transmissions.

"Captain," said Evers, serving as Tek'Xzen's Comm officer for this watch.

"Yes?" said Tucker, flipping through reports in the captain's Ready Room.

"A Klingon cruiser has just entered the system, and they're hailing us," said Evers.

"Hailing us? They're hailing the Bands?"

"No, sir," said Evers. "They're hailing Tek'Xzen."

"Put them through," said Tucker.

"Yes, sir."

A moment later the wall mounted video monitor sparked to life in order to display a view of the Tar'Dak's Bridge, a fierce looking Klingon staring straight at Trip.

"Captain," said Trip, looking at the Klingon.

The Klingon gave Trip a curt nod, and said, "Am I speaking to Captain Tucker, commander of the Black Uhlans?"

"You are," said Trip.

That seemed to please the Klingon, for he smiled, and said, "Excellent. I am Kotar, here on behalf of the High Council. I would speak with you, at your convenience, Captain."

"Certainly," said Trip, knowing that the Tar'Dak would have fixed Tek'Xzen's position from the comm stream. "Come. Allow me to offer you proper hospitality, Captain, and we can speak as we eat."

Kotar grunted his agreement and ended the transmission, bringing his cruiser on an intercept course with Tek'Xzen, even as Trip stepped onto the Bridge. Both Tactical, and Science looked at Tucker curiously, though both were far too well trained to ask - if any of this was their business, the captain would clue them in.

"How long 'till the Klingons get here?" said Trip, looking at Tactical.

"Seventeen minutes, Captain," said Tactical.

"Have an honor guard ready to receive the Klingon in Launch Bay 1," said Trip. "Ten men, fully armed. Enough to make a good show of it and receive the Klingons honorably, then tell them to get lost. We don't want to seem afraid of them."

"Yes, sir," said Tactical, beginning to give orders to set things in motion.

Meanwhile, Trip flipped a comm button on his captain's chair and reached out to Mess Hall 1.

"Yes, sir," said an anonymous crewman.

"Patch me through to Chef," said Trip.

Moments later Chef answered the summons, and said, "Yes, Captain?"

"We're about to have some Klingons board the ship in seventeen minutes," said Trip. "Have something suitable prepped for them, in case they wish to eat."

"Yes, Captain," said Chef.

"You want to sit in on my meeting with the Klingons?" said Trip, glancing at T'Pol.

"Yes," said T'Pol.

In truth, the Vulcan had no desire to socialize with Klingons what with so much work to do aboard Tek'Xzen, but T'Pol reasoned that her V'Shar honed combat skills would come in handy in defense of her mate, should these Klingons have come here with treachery in their hearts.

"Ok. Let's go," said Trip.

As it turned out, T'Pol's combat skills were not required at this meeting, for the Klingons came bearing gifts, and offers of friendship, which Kotar delivered after being fed a glorious meal on Tek'Xzen.

"Thank you," said Trip, accepting the razor sharp bat'leth which came along with a beautifully composed missive of gratitude from the Klingon High Council, scripted on the tanned hide of a Gorn warrior.

"That is a warrior's weapon, Captain, fashioned by Ta'Slak," said Kotar, his eyes caressing the bat'leth he'd just handed over. "It's beautifully balanced, and razor sharp."

"It's quite elegant and surely deadly, Kotar," said Trip, "but I have no idea how I'd use it in battle, though I'll build a stand for it, and give it a proper place of honor."

Kotar turned his head and spoke briefly to one of his bodyguards, then turned to face Trip.

"Ke'Zrell will remain on your ship, until you become proficient with the bat'leth, Captain," said Kotar. "It would be a crime to see a bat'leth of this quality used as nothing but a prop and a design motif."

Now Trip could have said, "No thanks," to Kotar's offer, at the risk of offending the Klingon, for Ke'Zrell might be a spy, or an assassin, but in truth such moves were just not in accord with Klingon nature - stealth or subterfuge would be unworthy of a true Klingon warrior. If a Klingon wanted you dead, the honorable way to deal with you would be to blast your ship to hell, or else to cut his way to you, and take your life with his own hands, in honorable combat, and Trip knew that much.

"Much obliged, Captain," said Trip, topping off their shot glasses with Andorian ale. "Qapla!"

"Qapla!"

And so it went for the better part of three hours and two bottles of ale, Trip and Kotar trading war stories of their encounters with the Gorn, and at the end of it all the two parted ways as brothers in arms, but not before Trip entrusted Kotar with an overview of the Bands'actions against the Gorn at large, as well as the sensor telemetry taken of the attack on the Gorn homeworlds… lastly, he also asked Kotar's favor to ferry a junior Human officer carrying verbal orders for Captain Reed to Qo'noS.

A bit later, having just walked Kotar back to Tek'Xzen's Launch Bay and the Klingon's shuttle, Trip looked about, took note of Ke'Zrell at his heel, and said, "Follow T'Pol, Ke'Zrell. She will assign you quarters and you will take a place in my crew as either a junior Tactical officer, or a Security officer - take your pick. Later today, I will manufacture two blunt bat'leth of the same weight and balance as the bat'leth given me today, and we will begin daily training with the weapon tomorrow."

"Yes, Captain," said Ke'Zrell, giving Trip a Klingon salute before following T'Pol from the Launch Bay, and with that Trip made it all the way back to his Ready Room before Comm reached out to Trip once again.

"Yes?" said Trip.

"You have a few dozen calls, Captain, from other ships, in other Bands," said Eckers. "They're curious about the Klingon's presence here."

"Contact them all," said Trip. "Tell them that the Klingons wished to express their gratitude for the information I gave them on the Gorn, and gave me a commendation, a pretty little blade, and a formal alliance with the Uhlans, though the Klingons will informally extend that alliance to the rest of the Bands, so long as those Bands do nothing to betray that trust, and they will extend that trust to allowing the Bands to enter Klingon space at will, if driven there by necessity. If they enter Klingon space and run into Klingon patrols, have them initiate communications with the Uhlan insignia, and that will be their pass through Klingon space."

"They won't like that, sir," said Eckers, for each Band was proud of it's own culture and insignia.

"Listen, I don't give a shit, that's what the Klingons said. If they don't like it, tell them to stay out of Klingon space," said Trip, ever the clear voice of logic.

"Very good, sir," said Eckers.

* * *

As it turned out, that was not the last diplomatic overture to deal with for that day, for soon after, Trip made time for the Vulcan ambassador Soval, and Trip would have been inclined to skip that meeting save for the fact that one of his own, Bronte Artigue, pressed for a meeting. Though Soval's purpose to gain compliance from the Bands in accord with EarthGov and the High Command's instructions was easily discerned, Trip sensed that Bronte's purpose had very little to do with Soval's… rather, the fetching little minx had her own designs, and her aim was to tie Soval to Delta Vega, but that would require too much of his time, as far as Trip was concerned. Still…

"I think the best way to initiate a true connection between EarthGov, the High Command and the Bands would be for Soval to return to Earth, and share what he's seen here on Delta Vega with his superiors," said Trip, and then raised his hand to forestall a comeback from a flushed Bronte. "In addition, it would be best if we sent one of our own to Earth, in case EarthGov or the High Command wish to question someone with a more intimate knowledge of our operations than Soval. I think it should be you, Bronte."

Trip almost smiled at the adorably calculating look on Bronte's face, and soon after, Bronte said, "Perhaps that would be for the best, Captain."

"I thought you might see it that way, Bronte," said Trip, a playful irony in his voice, to accompany the grin and raised brows Trip had for Soval. "I will expect you to keep close to Soval, you understand, Bronte?"

Bronte missed both, the irony and the grin, but Soval caught it all, and looked at Trip with an inscrutable look which held either gratitude or an unspoken promise of vengeance, but either way, that matter was easily dealt with, and the rest of the day should have been Trip's own, but unfortunately T'Pol did not see things that way and dumped a bundle of reports for Trip to review.

"Thanks, Polly," said Trip, a touch frustrated at the sheer number of PADD units on his desk.

"You are quite welcome, Captain," said T'Pol, and though her face betrayed nothing, the Bond betrayed her amusement with her mate.

* * *

Malcolm stood before the Klingon High Council once more, for the first time since he'd taken part in raiding the Gorn with the 5th Klingon fleet, and though his ship had taken a beating and he'd lost eight crewmen, it could have gone much worse. In any case, regardless of why he'd been called here, Malcolm hoped that he could pull some strings and get some shipyard time to repair his damaged ship, for the Klingons had been unwilling to schedule him for proper repairs, which had been disappointing considering that he'd placed his ship and crew in harm's way on the Klingon side. Regardless…

"…and so, Captain Reed," said K'mpec, "we salute you for your ship's valiant conduct against the Gorn. By all accounts, you held nothing back. If the rest of your Band's captains are of the same quality, we will do very well together."

"We were just doing our duty, High Councilor," said Malcolm, "but your words honor my crew, and I will pass them on."

K'mpec nodded, and Malcolm judged that the time was right.

"If I might ask favor of the High Council," said Malcolm, "I would ask for time in space dock, High Councilor, in order tha—"

At that K'mpec raised his hand, and Malcolm halted his request.

"My engineers tell me that ship of yours is not worth saving," said K'mpec, "and in any case, an Orion vessel is no fit ship for a crew of warriors. Accordingly, the High Council takes pleasure in presenting you with a Bird-of-Prey, in return for Tucker's aid, for your courage, and for your crew's commitment to duty even at the cost of their lives. You'll find the Ch'Tang far superior in comparison to that Orion wreck of yours, and you'll also find it much more capable in every capacity, whether used as scout, or raider, or ship of war.

"She will be presented to you three days from now, after the ship's language subroutines are switched from Klingon to English and she's given a final inspection. Leave the ship's transponder as is, and you will have unhindered travel through the Klingon Empire, for your ship's status as a personal gift from the High Council will be broadcast to all Klingon ships."

K'mpec's gesture took Malcolm by surprise, but he saw the sense of it all for the specific information gained from the Priest-King by Selkar was worth dozens of Birds-of-Prey, and so Malcolm gave K'mpec a Klingon salute, and said, "I am honored, High Councilors, and I swear that I will lead Ch'Tang to glory against the Gorn."

The High Councilors grunted in approval of Malcolm's sentiments, never doubting this Human's words, and just before dismissing the man, K'mpec said, "Oh, by the way, Reed. Kotar is on his way back from Delta Vega, where he met with Tucker. I understand Tucker sent one of his men to find you here. We will send this Human your way once Kotar's ship reaches Qo'noS."

"Thank you, High Councilor," said Malcolm. "Do you know this Human's name?"

"Danny Mac," said K'mpec.

"Oh, bollocks," thought Malcolm: Danny was a good lad, but he could also be a royal pain in the ass, and sending him in particular was Trip's way of screwing with him.

* * *

T'Les was just about to start cooking dinner, when her comm node sounded… that was fairly unusual, for though T'Les had an amiable relationship with her colleagues and her neighbors, she and T'Pol had generally kept to themselves, socially speaking. Still, when she sat and activated her comm unit, T'Les was more than pleased to see T'Pol's face.

"T'Pol! So good to see you!"

"I feel the same, mother," said T'Pol. "I wished I could have contacted you earlier, but the connections were weak."

"I know," said T'Les. "The CMEs(Coronal Mass Ejections) just let up yesterday, and I imagine the transmission terminals were all jammed up with social calls. Forget about it. It is so good to see your face again. How are you, T'Pol?"

"Surprisingly well, mother."

"I saw your face during the conference the Bands' commanders put on, after your return from Hegemony space," said T'Les. "I worried endlessly, but seeing you up on that stage… it was wonderful, T'Pol. You look more yourself than you've looked for years."

"I feel that way too, mother."

"So tell me about life with the Uhlans, T'Pol."

T'Pol did just that, putting the last item of conversation, the most important item of conversation off as long as Vulcanly possible. Then…

"I have news of some personal developments in my life, mother," said T'Pol. "Perhaps you should have a seat."

T'Les raised brow, looked down, and said, "I am already seated, as you can well see T'Pol."

"Oh, yes," said T'Pol, visibly flustered, at least to a mother's eyes.

"Out with it, T'Pol."

"Yes, well…" said T'Pol, before taking a deep breath, and speaking her bit. "I am mated and Bonded, mother. To a Human."

T'Les' eyes widened a bit at that, in surprise, though she might have suspected as much if she'd given the matter some thought, for Vulcan logic was inescapable, and logically, the Afflicted were damaged goods among Vulcans, due to varying degrees of impairment where their emotional control was concerned… but to a Human that impairment would not seem as much a handicap, and given the generally undisciplined emotional states in which many Humans lived, such lapses in an Afflicted mate might not even seem out of place.

"Is it a true Bond?" said T'Les, a bit incredulous.

"Yes," said T'Pol.

"Fascinating." T'Les breathed deeply, nodded, and said, "It is that Captain Tucker, no?"

"It is," said T'Pol, surprised by her mother's question. "How did you know?"

"You seemed quite focused on the man during the presentation," said T'Les, "and had I even envisioned the possibility that our relative species could bind each other, I might have suspected a Bond between you two, such were the tells in your body language. Now, as far as I know, you are the first such mated couple."

"So you do not object?" said T'Pol, relieved at the way T'Les was dealing with this news.

"You've seen many dark days since Vulcan fell, T'Pol, and there are many days that I've despaired for you," said T'Les. "It pleases me that you've found someone to stand with you, daughter, and I hope Captain Tucker is worthy of you. I wish you both long life and contentment as a Bonded couple, daughter."

"Thank you, mother," said T'Pol, relieved that her worst fears were unfounded. "Thank you."

"So when do I meet your mate, T'Pol?"

"I can not say, mother."

"Perhaps I will come to Delta Vega when university lets off for the summer, two months from now," said T'Les.

"When the time draws close, I will arrange transport for you, mother."

"Very good, T'Pol."

* * *

And then, to wind up a fairly memorable week, a Tholian ship came calling to Delta Vega. Unlike the Klingons, they hailed no one, but came straight for Tek'Xzen, and it passed through the various Band patrols without incident, for Tholian ships were distinctive enough to be easily recognized. Tucker was on the Bridge when the Tholian pulled up to Tek'Xzen, and the Uhlan flagship promptly answered the Tholian's hail… contrary to expectations, the video connection did not reveal a Tholian, but rather a series of three maps which were timestamped, and easily read. The first map showed the borders of the Gorn Hegemony and the Tholian Assembly before the start of the Hegemony's aggressive campaign, the second map showed those relative borders after initial rush which had stripped the Tholians of a fifth of their territory, and a recent map, just ten days old, which showed that the Tholians had held the line, but only after losing another fifth of their territory to the Gorn in the last series of battles between them both.

"I see," said Trip, trusting that the Tholians would easily have the computing power to understand English, "and I understand. Why are you here?"

The maps vanished, and the view on the monitor was replaced by the Tholian Assembly's triangular red logo, and that logo was soon joined by that of the Uhlans - an eagle with wings spread wide, lifted straight from the standards of the Roman legions, though this eagle held a cavalry saber in each claw - the Black Uhlan name and logo had evolved during a night of heavy drinking between Trip and Malcolm, and though it had all begun as a joke, it had turned out rather well… and a moment later the two logos were combined in the center of the screen.

"Alliance," said Trip loudly, guessing the purpose of the displayed graphics. "You're here to bid for alliance with the Uhlans."

The newly joined logo flashed once, and Trip took that for a yes.

"Agreed," said Trip.

The logo flashed once more, then Tek'Xzen's Comm officer spoke up.

"The Tholians are transferring a number of files to Tek'Xzen's buffer," said Eckers. "Nothing alarming, and at first glance it seems to be a great number of maps detailing Tholian Assembly space in great detail, though of course much of it is now held by the Hegemony."

Trip nodded in understanding at that gesture, for that data would come in handy if they had to fight in Tholian space. With the data transfer complete, the logo flashed once more, after which the connection was severed and the Tholian ship turned round for home, while Trip headed for his Ready Room, to take a closer look at the Tholian data. He'd just taken his chair and opened up the data files, when Eckers chimed in once more.

"Our board is getting swamped once again, Captain," said Eckers. "People want to know what the Tholian was doing here."

"Mmmm, hmmm," said Trip, already deep in the Tholian data files.


	17. Chapter 17

— **Chapter 17 —**

* * *

Ss'karr, the Priest-King in command of the Hegemony force besieging the Tholians, was furious, for he'd been recalled before the job of destroying the Tholian Assembly was done… in fact, so furious was Ss'karr with his orders that he'd ignored them initially, under pretense that proper communications were impossible, all while continuing to press the Tholians hard.

Still, the Gorn Conclave's will would not be spurned by Ss'karr's ploy, and so the Conclave sent a messenger to deliver their orders, a messenger which Ss'karr could neither avoid, nor ignore: that Ss'karr ripped out the messenger's throat immediately after taking hold of the official directives was a faux pas, it's true, but it was a relatively minor one - the messenger was a low-caste Gorn, and not a Priest-King.

As for Ss'karr's orders, they were most explicit… what he'd done against the Tholians was enough for now, and his forces as well as his cunning were needed elsewhere, for the Conclave had a plan for Earth, and thus the Tholians could wait for now. Furious though he was, Ss'karr would not ignore a direct order from the Conclave: he could not if he valued his skin, literally. The punishment for disobedience to the Conclave was to be skinned alive, then slowly roasted over a bed of hot coals… to say that such a death would be unpleasant, would be an understatement.

* * *

Trip huffed and puffed, a plas-steel bat'leth in hands as he faced Ke'Zrell in one of Tek'Xzen's gyms. This whole enterprise had started off fairly well, with Ke'Zrell showing Trip a proper stance and three weapon blocks using the bat'leth… and then he'd proceeded to whack away at Trip, requiring him to use each of those three blocking maneuvers to keep from having his skull bashed in, or his ribs broken, or his torso pierced by the blunt, yet still dangerous tips of the Klingon bat'leth. Now, forty-five minutes after he and Ke'Zrell had begun this torture session, Trip was ready to drop, and this despite the fact that he kept himself in pretty good shape, but nothing really fully prepared you for physical combat, save for physical combat.

"Well, we've had a good session, Ke'Zrell," said Trip, making a bid for freedom. "We'll have to work on it some more tomorrow."

Ke'Zrell grinned, well aware of the Human's gambit, and said, "We have another forty-five minutes to go, Captain. I will not lose face with my people because you handle a bat'leth like a garden hoe."

"Oh balls," said Trip, a moment before blocking a vicious blow which Ke'Zrell delivered for his head, and with that, the suffering continued, when Ke'Zrell hooked the back of Trip's ankle with his bat'leth, and brought the Human to the ground, only to try to stomp his face with his steel shod boot.

* * *

"She's a beauty!" said Ajan, gazing about the Bridge of the Ch'Tang, the Klingon Bird-of-Prey which the High Council had awarded Captain Reed as a good will gesture in lieu of repairing his wreck of an Orion ship. "A beauty, Malcolm!"

"Yeah," said Malcolm looking round the Bridge from his seat in the captain's chair: the compact Bridge, the low-lighting, the walk here through the gleaming passageways, all of that gave a bit of texture to the ship's specs which Malcolm had already studied intently the past two days. "She is a beauty, and we're going to do great things together."

"I was hoping you'd feel that way about me, Captain," said Ajan, stepping close to Malcolm and draping her arms around the man from behind his chair, then biting his ear lobe with those sharp Klingon teeth.

The painful bite was enough to make Malcolm wince, and the man said, "You're going to pay for that, you Klingon wretch! I'll make you suffer."

"Mmmm, hmmm. Well, why not here? Why not now?" said Ajan, coming round the chair to grin at Malcolm with a purposeful look in her eyes: she was cruising for some action. "We have the ship all to ourselves."

"Why not," said Malcolm, for the ship was practically empty: sure, the Klingon shuttle which had brought them here was manned by two Klingons, but those two waited for he and Ajan, back in the Shuttle Bay. "It will probably be years before you get a legitimate chance to take a captain's chair."

"You bastard!" said Ajan, and the Klingon launched herself at Malcolm, tasting his lips at leisure, all while Malcolm's hands roamed her body freely.

Now, normally Ajan would be wearing the rugged and practical outfit of a Klingon warrior, but the call notifying Reed that his ship was ready for inspection had caught them both in club wear, for Ajan had insisted on dragging Malcolm to a dance club… yes, Klingons danced, and they danced dirty to some God awful techno music, thus Ajan's slinky outfit which left very little to the imagination, given how little material was really involved in the construction of her dress… the woman was generally quite low key in her normal Klingon uniform which concealed her figure in some measure, but this dress did exactly the opposite, making it very clear that Ajan was all woman.

How she did it, Malcolm never really understood, but after a passionate bout of kissing Ajan grasped hold a most delicate part of Malcolm, parting his clothing even as she fed him her breasts, and just as Malcolm began to take his bearings, the Klingon lowered her weight atop Malcolm with a sigh, doing a good job of scrambling Malcolm's thoughts in the process… and then Ajan began grinding atop him him in a series of fluid motions, both savage and sensual, and just then the door to the Bridge opened, and things went to hell…

"Malcolmmmmmm!"

"Christ, Danny, what the hell are you doing here?" said a bewildered Malcolm, certain that he was dreaming a nightmare.

"What am I doing here?" said Danny, with a grin. "No, what are you doing here?! And who is this lovely—"

"Get out!" screamed Ajan, and the snarl on her face would have set a Gorn back on his heels.

"Right. Well, I'll wait for you two to tidy up... unless you want some company?" said Danny with a perverted grin.

"BaQa quO!" said Ajan. "If you make me come over there, Human, I'll make you regret it!"

"Right. Well, I'm off to the Mess Hall then. Knowing Malcolm, you'll join me there in two minutes," said Danny, never one to miss a chance to sink a barb in Malcolm's back.

"Who the hell is that?" said Ajan, looking questioningly at Malcolm, a moment after Danny had made his exit.

"That… is Danny Mac," said Malcolm.

"Is he for real?" asked Ajan, once Danny had cleared the room.

"I'm afraid so, love," said Malcolm, quite irritated now. "I hate him! I truly hate that man!"

"Why did Tucker send him here?"

"Knowing Trip," said Malcolm, "the man sent Danny here just to bust my balls."

Ajan chuckled at Malcolm's words, and said, "An elegant move, Malcolm. This Tucker… enemies like that are a gift from heaven."

"Yeah," said Malcolm, and Ajan began moving atop Malcolm once again, and soon enough Malcolm forgot his irritation with Danny… at least for a time.

* * *

T'Pol headed for Mess Hall 1 in order to pick up something sweet to take back to her mate's cabin… they had not made their relationship 'official' so far as the world at large was concerned, but T'Pol spent most every night with her mate just the same… and as T'Pol entered the mess hall, she saw Plox and Alice seated at one of the tables.

"Doctors," said T'Pol.

"Ah, T'Pol," said Phlox, as always, invariably cheerful. "How are you today?"

"Quite well, Doctor," said T'Pol.

"Join us, T'Pol," said Alice.

"I do not wish to intrude on your conversation," said T'Pol.

"In that case ease your mind, T'Pol," said Phlox. "I'm heading back to Sick Bay. Ladies."

A moment later, T'Pol sat, for Alice tapped the table next to her, and said, "We need to talk."

"All right," said T'Pol. "About what?"

Alice looked about the Mess Hall in a conspiratorial gesture sure to arouse curiosity, even though the place was patently empty save for her and T'Pol, and said, "I've done as you asked, T'Pol. Though Phlox was handling the case, I've looked at Selkar's files."

"And?" said T'Pol.

During one of their movie nights, she'd asked Alice to monitor Selkar's files on an ongoing basis, in order to detect any anomalies which might indicate that the Vulcan might once again make an attempt on Captain Tucker's life… T'Pol's thoroughness was part and parcel of her V'Shar training, and the paranoia, well that was just an emotional reaction, and T'Pol was not too ashamed to admit it - anyway, to protect one's mate was also logical.

"Well," said Alice, "Selkar still suffers from agitation and sleeplessness, but his brain wave patterns are wholly Vulcan, T'Pol. I've seen the readings we took of Selkar while the Gorn had subsumed his psyche, and the differences are stark. I'll continue to keep an eye out on him, but my medical opinion is that Selkar's no danger to anyone on Tek'Xzen."

T'Pol nodded, silently considering if she should stop here, or track Selkar's wellbeing for a while longer.

"Now keep in mind I've only agreed to do this since you're in the chain of command," said Alice, "but even so, our actions are borderline at best, so keep your mouth shut. If Phlox finds out about this he'll lose trust in me, and that would kill me."

T'Pol nodded, and said, "Of course, Doctor. Have no fear."

"Good," said Alice. "Now, I did you a favor, and now I need a favor in return."

"I am listening."

Alice took a deep breath, and said, "Trip was right. I did it, I banged Phillips, showed him the Spuds MacKenzie three times last night, and now he's blabbling about it all over the ship. He hasn't named me, he's just bragged of doing the MacKenzie, but now it's only a matter of time before people put things together. If Phillips keeps this up, if Trip finds out what I did, defied his orders, he'll have my hide mounted on his wall."

T'Pol had blushed slightly upon mention of the MacKenzie, though the color was only truly noticeable in the tips of her elegant ears, for Trip had kept his promise and introduced her to that particular diversion as well, and she'd found it highly stimulating.

Alice caught it too, no matter how subtle the signs, and she grinned, then said, "You've done it too, haven't you? With Trip."

"That is none of your business, Alice," said T'Pol. "Anyway, I understand your dilemma. Very well. I will take care of Phillips, and you will owe me one, for the fact you went against the captain's orders."

"Of course," said Alice, a look of pleased cunning on her face for what had initially started as a girl friend thing with T'Pol, was quickly morphing into a criminal enterprise between the two: anyway, she was managing to corrupt a Vulcan, and that was something to be proud of, no?

T'Pol nodded, and left the table to access the wall mounted comm unit.

"Computer," said T'Pol, "place me in contact with crewman T. Phillips."

"AFFIRMATIVE," said Tek'Xzen's computer, and moments later a connection between the two was made.

"Yes, Commander," said Phillips.

"Meet me in Mess Hall 1, crewman," said T'Pol. "Now."

"Yes, Commander," said Phillips.

T'Pol turned to Alice who watched the Vulcan with a lopsided smile.

"What are you going to do to him?" said Alice.

"I am going to threaten him," said T'Pol, "and if that does not silence him, I will transfer him to another of our ships. Now scram, before Phillips gets here."

"Right," said Alice, bolting for the door, and moments later, the doctor made her escape.

* * *

It was later that same watch that the unexpected happened. Three ships materialized off Delta Vega, setting off a flurry of activity all among the Bands, though three ships were no danger to anyone given the readiness among the Bands, which saw many ships constantly running with weapons hot, and shields set to 40%, unless maintenance required otherwise.

"Romulans," said Trip, for he remembered Enterprise's close call with two identical looking ships in a cloaked minefield, years earlier.

Coincidentally, Ke'Zrell the Klingon, manning his shift as Tactical had also spoken that name aloud the same instant as Trip, causing the captain to look at Ke'Zrell: but there was time for that later.

T'Pol was in Trip's line of sight when he'd spoken the name Romulan for she was consulting with Ke'Zrell, and the Vulcan flinched at hearing that label, even as a current of unease resonated from her through the Bond, but then Trip supposed being surprised like this by these alien ships was reason enough for a measure of unease.

Moments later, the Romulans broadcast an open transmission, to the Bands, audio only: "We are representatives of the Romulan Star Empire, and we wish to speak with the leader of the Bands."

"T'Pol," said Trip, looking at the Vulcan, "have Soval and Bronte left for Earth yet?"

"No," said T'Pol. "They're due to leave three days from now."

"Get hold of Soval, because we may need him now," said Trip. "Have him stand by."

T'Pol typed in a short message followed by Soval's personal comm ID on Tactical's console, then passed that information to the Comm station. A period of chatter went from the various Bands to the Romulans, and Trip listened in on it.

"…and so, the Federated Bands have no one leader," came the sound of Mosby's voice, leader of The Breed, "though we tend to act as one if the majority of the Bands agree on a course of action."

"State your purpose now, out in the open," said Martinez, speaking for the Vagos. "We will all hear you out."

"Who the hell are you Romulans?" said Efram, 2nd in command of the Coffin Cheaters. "Where are you from?"

And so it went, with the Romulans replying to none of the chatter, until, eventually fed up with it, they reached out to Tek'Xzen.

"Captain," said Evers, manning Comm this shift. "The Romulans are hailing us."

Trip nodded, and the Romulan audio feed chimed in, as well as an interesting logo which displayed a stylized bird of prey, each claw clutching what seemed to be a world in miniature.

"Am I speaking with Tucker, commander of the Uhlans?" said a Romulan voice.

"Yes," said Trip, curious how the Romulans had come by that information, but then given their cloaking ability, they'd no doubt hung about for a time, listening to traffic between the Bands… that was the simplest explanation.

"I am H'Vrel, captain on this triad."

"Well met, Captain," said Trip. "What can I do for you?"

"We have been on watch for weeks, and I have a question," said H'Vrel. "Why was your ship approached by both Klingons and Tholians?"

"I shared valuable information with them both," said Trip. "They wished to express their gratitude, and make offers of friendship."

"I see," said H'Vrel. "Well perhaps we will deal with you as well."

"If it pleases you," said Trip, knowing the other Bands were listening in on the chatter, no doubt curious of these Romulans, and their reason for showing up at Delta Vega.

"I will be brief," said H'Vrel. "My government has watched the moves which the Gorn have made, just as we've watched the moves which the Humans, Klingons and Tholians have made in response. We've also seen video of the raid the Uhlans and The Breed made on the Gorn homeworlds, and we saw that while you took out two homeworlds, you left three worlds untouched."

That bit of it startled Trip somewhat, for it seemed the Romulans ranged far and wide, unhindered by the Gorn… if the Bands could get the specs for Romulan cloaking devices, that would trump even their current standards of stealth, which largely gave them immunity to sensors, but not to visual detection… was it possible? Could they negotiate for that tech from the Romulans?

"So why are you here, Captain?" said Trip.

"Our officer cadre has calculated the relative merits of the forces at play here," said H'Vrel, "and though you've all made some elegant moves, the Gorn still hold a most decisive advantage."

"And so?" said Trip.

"And so we wish to lend a hand before the Gorn overrun both Humans and Klingons," said H'Vrel, "and reach our own homeworlds."

"That's a practical motivation, and I am certain that your aid will be invaluable in facing the Gorn," said Trip. "Do you have a diplomat or two among you, given that you came here to establish diplomatic ties between us? We happen to have a Vulcan ambassador on standby."

"A Vulcan," said H'Vrel. "Well, I suppose we must all make sacrifices in a time of war. He will do."

T'Pol looked up upon hearing the cool disdain in H'Vrel's voice, even as Trip tapped a few keys on the armpad of his captain's chair, and transmitted Soval's comm code to the Romulan ship, then said, "H'Vrel, ask your diplomats to contact Ambassador Soval. Let them work out the details, and then Soval will brief the Bands as a whole."

"Very well," said H'Vrel.

"In the meantime," said Trip, curious to set eyes on these Romulans, "perhaps you'd allow me to offer you hospitality on Tek'Xzen, Captain."

"I will have to decline your offer, Captain Tucker," said H'Vrel.

"All right," said Trip, and with the the comm stream was severed from the Romulan side.

"Soval?" said Trip, looking at T'Pol.

"The ambassador has responded, and he is quite pleased to be back in his element, Captain," said T'Pol. "He will update us all as often as possible, I am certain of that."

"Mmmm," said Trip, then turned to Ke'Zrell. "How did you recognize those ships as Romulan?"

"Our people have had dealings with them, on and off, for the past seven hundred years or so," said Ke'Zrell. "Our empires share a common border."

"I see," said Trip. "What can you tell me about them?"

"Not much," said Ke'Zrell. "Given your assistance to my people, I'm certain that the High Council will share any information they have of the Romulans with you, but in general, not much is known about them. They're quite mysterious. We don't even know what they look like, for all our communications have been conducted through audio streams only - I suspect it will be the same with you."

"What can you tell me about their cloaking devices?"

"They're good, but they're not perfect," said Ke'Zrell. "We can detected them to some degree, if not easily. I'll modify your Tactical station, which should give you about a shot of piercing their cloaks, and you can then pass it on to the rest of the Bands."

Trip was about to thank Ke'Zrell and move on, but something of T'Pol's mental state positively shouted out her unease to him, through the Bond.

"T'Pol, my Ready Room, please."

"Yes, Captain," said T'Pol, and the unease she passed through the Bond only increased.

"Out with it," said Trip, moments later, after throwing himself in his chair, and setting his feet atop his desk. "What is it?"

T'Pol said nothing, and Trip only grew more watchful of his mate.

"Tell me, T'Pol."

T'Pol sighed, and said, "As you may or may not know, the coming of Surak on my world brought forth a reformation on Vulcan, a spiritual change in my people's focus, from an indulgence in virtually uncontrolled passions, with all that went along with such indulgences, to a focus on logic as the guiding force in our lives."

"Than much I know," said Trip. "Go on."

"Surak's message was not accepted by the entirety of my people, Trip," said T'Pol. "Some fifteen percent of our population refused Surak's teachings, and turned their backs on Vulcan, determined to keep their passions, and the bloodshed which went along with those passions. They boarded what ships they could and headed out in the void of space, searching for a new homeworld at a time when space travel was much more primitive, and much more dangerous than today."

"And the Romulans are the descendants of those Vulcans?" said Trip.

"Unknown," said T'Pol, "but there have been rumors, brought about by those who claim to have seen these Romulans, and they claim that the Romulans are definitely a Vulcanoid people. If so… it is logical to assume that these Romulans are really the pre-Reformation Vulcans which left Vulcan shortly after Surak's coming. They called themselves the Rihansu then, The Birds of Prey, and they left Vulcan in an arrogant fit of rage at what they saw as a betrayal of our heritage."

"What is the source of those rumors?"

"A few alien merchants and some former Orion captives who've said that they've seen Vulcans buying slaves in Orion space," said T'Pol. "That Vulcans should buy slaves is patently absurd, yet Orion space shares a border with both Klingons and Romulans, and so, unsubstantiated though these rumor are…"

"Do you really think those rumors are true?"

"I do not know," said T'Pol.

"Speculate."

"I do not have enough data to do so," said T'Pol.

"What would it mean to Vulcans, if these Romulans were truly their long lost brothers?"

"I do not know, Trip," said T'Pol. "As I've said, we do not even know if these rumors are true, or our speculations accurate."

"Yeah. Well, maybe we'll find out in the course of our cooperation with the Romulans."

T'Pol merely nodded in response to Trip's words, and rather than curiosity, Trip felt only dread coming through his mate's side of the Bond.


	18. Chapter 18

— **Chapter 18 —**

* * *

It had not taken Soval long to hammer out a path for Romulan participation in the war against the Gorn, and Soval revealed that the Romulan conditions for their participation went as follows:

#1. That the species resisting the Hegemony's aggression, namely the Andorians, Humans, Klingons, Romulans, Tholians and Vulcans should create a political union, a United Federation of Planets if you will, lasting for the duration of this war against the Gorn, and that this Federation should strive to bring in any other species willing to play a role in resisting the Gorn.

#2. That the Federation should agree upon a military plan to deal with the Gorn as one united front, rather than a number of disparate forces, each doing what they could.

#3. That the Bands should speak with one voice, lest the necessity of gaining agreement from seventeen Bands, over and over again, for every decision taken during the course of the war should become a hindrance at a critical time.

In return, the Romulans promised to bring to battle an armed force which equaled that which the Klingons had fielded before their losses against the Gorn - if true, the Romulans would be a great asset in this fight against the Hegemony, for until their losses against the Gorn, the Klingons were the 800 pound gorilla in known space…

It really was too good an offer to pass up, and conditions #1 and #2 were easily agreed upon. It was the last condition which gave the Bands some trouble. See each Band had its own culture, its own way of doing things, and each Band took pride it its individuality… on the other hand, the Bands' raison d'être was to resist, and hopefully defeat the Gorn, and if some accommodations were required in order to draw the Romulans into the battle, well, than they would be made.

And so subspace transmissions were quickly sent to the Andorian Emperor, the Klingon High Council and the Tholian Assembly, requesting that they send representatives to Delta Vega in hope of reaching a diplomatic accord in opposition to the Gorn, and formally establishing the Federation.

As for a worthwhile united strategy against the Gorn, well that was also easily discerned, for the Humans had shown the way… the Gorn still had some 27 years of belligerence before Nemesis departed and the Black Sun set, and though the Hegemony's resources were vast, they were not limitless. The Humans had struck at the core of the Gorn's offensive machinery, the homeworlds which housed the factories which built Gorn ships, and fed Gorn soldiers - take that base away from the Hegemony, drive the Gorn back into a Stone Age and their physical aggression was no longer relevant. They'd be unable to leave Hegemony space and project force against their neighbors.

So the Humans had the right of it as the Romulans saw things, though they'd not had the resources needed to take it all the way, for they'd attacked only two of five Gorn worlds, and even there, they'd hit hundreds of targets, when thousands need be reduced to rubble to truly cripple the Gorn. Thus the Romulans sought a united push on all fronts in order to fix the Hegemony's troops, all while cloaked Romulan warships repeated Human maneuvers, to strike the Hegemony's homeworlds in earnest, and vaporize the Hegemony's remaining infrastructure. Now THAT was a winning strategy!

As for the 3rd item on the list, an agreement was soon reached among the Bands: a vote would be taken and a leader chosen, one who would speak for all Bands, and that leader would be granted sufficient power to be effective in that role… furthermore, he would be one of their own, and could thus be trusted to advance the one goal which mattered most to the Bands, that of defeating the Gorn, and thus entire issue was decided in a matter of hours.

Each Band's commander cast a vote for a suitable leader of the Bands. The first vote came up with seven suitable names… the second vote whittled that number down to five. The third vote brought the number down to four names, that of veteran commanders Mosby, commander of The Breed, Tucker, commander of the Black Uhlans, Sagawa, commander of the Sons of Silence, and the Vulcan T'Riselle, commander of SoKoun. The fourth vote took Sagawa and T'Riselle out of the running. The fifth vote would have decided things, but it was then that Mosby removed himself from the running, pointing out that Tucker had already made valuable connections with both, the Klingons and the reclusive Tholians… and as far as Mosby was concerned, the choice was clear.

Mosby was as clever as a fox, and Tucker smiled at Mosby's self-serving little speech, for Trip knew the man well, and he knew that Mosby wanted no part of leading the Bands, and wanted no part of the headaches which were sure to come from that thankless task of herding cats. Still, reasoned Tucker, if they did this thing right, if this Federation came together, they'd crush the Gorn within a year, and that's what truly mattered.

So just like that, the Bands had an overall leader now, one of their own who would not meddle with the internal affairs of the various Bands, but would still act as a focal point for their efforts. That last task accomplished, and now only a matter of waiting for Andorian, Klingon and Tholian representatives to join the Humans, Vulcans and Romulans on Delta Vega, the Bands turned their attention back to preparing their ships for battle, even as the Romulans made their debut in known space.

Of course, the news of this 'new' species joining the alliance against the Gorn was significant enough that it made news even back on Earth and its colonies, and as interesting as the Humans found it all, the Vulcans found it shocking, for there was no denying it now, not with visual images of these newcomers… the Rihansu which had left Vulcan in defiance of Surak's vision of peace and logic had come forth from the void of space to take the stage, and there was no denying the fact that this appearance caused a great deal of Vulcan introspection, for while the Vulcans were essentially a broken people now, the Romulans were strong and proud, their homeworlds safe, and frankly, it was all enough to make the strongest advocates of Surak's teachings tear their hair from its roots.

* * *

"You've read Soval's reports!" said Sanders, EarthGov's current president. "Those lunatics in the Bands are trying to build some type of fucking federation to resist the Gorn, and that's only going to attract the Hegemony's attention!"

"If reports are true, and I see no reason to doubt them, Mr. President," said Admiral Forrest, "the Gorn have always meant to turn their attention to Earth, sooner or later. This Federation seems like a good idea all thin—"

"Oh, bullshit, Admiral!" said Sanders. "The Gorn have their hands full with the Klingons and the Tholians. We were just fine here, minding our own business, and letting the Gorn do what they do."

"For now, Mr. President," said Forrest. "I see no reason to believe that once the Gorn dispatched the others, they would decide to leave us in peace."

"Listen, Forrest," said Sanders, "I don't care what you believe. I'm the elected president, and I'm the one that put you in charge of StarFleet, and you will carry out my orders, you understand?"

"Yes, Mr. President," said Forrest.

"Good. Now, here's what I want you to do, Admiral," said Sanders.

* * *

Ss'karr was on T'Skkel now, the original Gorn homeworld and a planet still roiling from the effect of hundreds of nuclear missile strikes upon its surface, and though the Gorn were much more resistant to the effects of radiation in comparison to Humans, the all important Gorn structures, depots and factories on the planet's surface were decimated by those strikes.

Still, the Conclave's ancient quarters were built deep beneath the surface in a cavern which had served as the Conclave's Chambers for the past five thousand years or so, since an earthquake had destroyed the previous chambers, and these chambers were Ss'Karr's destination and so, at the appointed time, Ss'karr passed through a dozen guards with merely a hiss - these guards were common Gorn, as far beneath him as a cockroach, a Human, or a Klingon... or really any other creature but a Priest-King.

The guards were well aware of Ss'karr's contempt for them all, but they accepted their place in the Hegemony's caste structure without rancor, though they were just as elitist where other species were concerned, but here and now, they merely stood at attention as Ss'karr passed through them, his scent stirring a need within the common Gorn to serve the Priest-King, even as his scent spoke volumes of Ss'karr's disdain for them all… not that it mattered - these Guards would willingly die in defense of any Priest-King, for the good of their species.

Once within the Conclave's Chambers, it took Ss'karr's eyes a few seconds to adjust to the low lighting, after which he made his way to the center of the room under the watchful eyes of nine Priest-Kings, the Members of the Conclave, each member cloaked in shadows and lined against the chamber's curved walls as they stood on a ledge which raised the Nine of Br'ansak far above a mere Priest-King, even an admiral like Ss'karr.

Despite all that, Ss'karr remained undaunted, for the scents coming from the Nine spoke of their respect for him: there was no bitter scent of jealousy, no caustic scent of anger, no sour scent of irritation, and even if such scents had existed as evidence of the Nine's displeasure, Ss'karr was a warrior, and as a measure of Ss'karr's pride, a band of scarlet red appeared from the tip of Ss'karr's snout to the top of his head, a narrow streak of color the width of a Human hand.

Some among the Nine hissed their approval for the Conclave liked to see spirit in its underlings, and with that approval Ss'karr was informed as to why he'd been recalled from Tholian space: the Nine had a mission for him to complete.

* * *

T'Pol whimpered now, clinging to her mate, the Vulcan existentially torn between enjoying herself, and a feeling of righteous indignation… her mate was dealing with Bands business, as in all Bands business, practically glued to the video monitor of his computer as he reviewed some readiness reports coming from the Bands, but that had not stopped the man from pulling her onto his lap when she'd passed his desk. Now that act was not blameworthy, for T'Pol would not have objected to a stolen kiss or two, but the man had the temerity to unzip the concealed zipper which ran down the front of T'Pol's uniform, and then shamelessly fondle her goodies. Again, T'Pol would not have objected to that fact in the normal course of events, for she relished her mate's touch, but she had a mountain of data to work through, and this interruption, no matter how pleasant, would simply not do!

"Captain, I have work to do," said T'Pol, "and no matter how pleasant—"

"Shhhh," said Trip, studying the data slowly scrolling on his video monitor, even as the hand which had been fondling her breasts moved down T'Pol's belly.

"But Captain," said T'Pol, and just then the comm console chimed.

"Answer it, please. Video feed," said Trip with a grin.

T'Pol's fingers moved for the keyboard, even as the Vulcan defiantly pressed the AUDIO button — had she obeyed her orders, the party making the call would have found her in a most compromising position, and that would never do!

"Yes?" said Trip, his left hand parting moist Vulcan petals now.

T'Pol sighed and buried her face at the base of her mate's neck, as the man's hand continued its restless explorations.

"Ke'Zrell here, Captain. I have three Andorian ships on sensors, and scouts have reported Klingon ships passing through their lines as well. The delegates are on the way. Only the Tholians are still unaccounted for."

"They'll show, Ke'Zrell," said Trip, one ear out for Ke'Zrell, the other savoring T'Pol's soft whimpers. "They'll show."

"As you say, Captain," said the Klingon. "You have twenty minutes until our bat'leth practice session."

"I don't have time for that toda—"

"Twenty minutes, Captain," said Ke'Zrell. "Or would you have me lie, when asked how your training progresses? I can't do it. I won't!"

"Ugh, you're such a drama queen, Ke'Zrell," said Trip. "Fine. Twenty minutes."

And here T'Pol sighed with a bit of disappointment, for she was truly enjoying herself… as it turned out, there was no need to worry, as the captain's busy hand accomplished more than enough in the next twenty minutes to send her off quite satisfied, and as T'Pol zipped up her uniform, and assumed a proper mask of poise in preparation for leaving the man's quarters, she gave a very slight smile.

"You must be half Vulcan, Captain," said T'Pol. "You are a master at multi-tasking."

"And you disobeyed a direct order, when I ordered you to press the VIDEO feed button," said Trip. "That's grounds for dismissal from the Uhlans."

Here and now T'Pol just rolled her eyes, for she felt confident enough of her place in the Uhlans to render the captain's threat an empty threat.

"Well perhaps that is too extreme a punishment," said Trip with a grin.

"Indeed it is, Captain," said T'Pol.

"Still doesn't leave out other forms of discipline, my large breasted beauty," said Trip, after stealing a kiss from T'Pol's plump lips. "Later this evening."

"Perhaps the Tellarite maneuver is called for here, Captain," said T'Pol, nodding sagely. "That would certainly teach me to show you proper respect."

"Nice try, Polly. That's for when you're good. Anyway, after your discipline, I'm committed to finishing what I've started here, later this evening. 2100 hours. Don't be late, or you get nothing at all."

"Be late?" said T'Pol. "I'd rather die!"

* * *

**Okay, okay, I expect that I've ruffled a lot of feathers with this chapter, making the Romulans the good guys, making them the originators of the Federation, but before gathering up in a mob to come tar and feather me, and then beat me to within an inch of my life, please keep in mind that this is an AU story!


	19. Chapter 19

— **Chapter 19 —**

* * *

Trip woke fairly late the next morning at 0755 hours, in response to the cabin's buzzer which announced that he had a visitor. He looked around, saw no sign of T'Pol running round his cabin naked as she was wont to do, and so reasoned that his mate had returned to her quarters to shower and change uniforms for the upcoming day, so Trip slipped into a t-shirt and some faded chinos. The buzzer had sounded three times by now, and buzzed again, quite insistently.

"Coming," said Trip, though his cabin was soundproofed, but then he wasn't thinking clearly this early in the morning.

A moment later, Trip answered the cabin's door to see on of Tek'Xzen's Security people at the door with a middle aged Vulcan by his side and that made it clear that the Vulcan was a visitor to the ship, thus necessitating the presence of the security detail.

"What is it, Allen?" said Trip, looking at the Security officer.

"I am here seeking my daughter. T'Pol," said the Vulcan, cutting into the conversation. "I was informed that I might find her here."

"T'Pol will be on duty on the Bridge by now," said Trip, stalling for time: regretfully though, he had no place to run. "I've got this, Allen. Get out of here."

"Yes, sir," said Allen, the man giving Trip a goofy smile - he knew very well that the captain would rather face a Gorn than his mother in law, or girlfriend's mama, depending on what Tucker and T'Pol were into, relationally speaking.

"Come in, T'Les," said Trip, and stepped aside.

T'Les entered the captain's quarters, and looked about the cabin curiously.

"I see no signs of my daughter in your cabin, none of her personal items here, Captain. Nothing to indicate that you are Bound to a Vulcan."

"Call me Trip. Anyway, T'Pol still has her own cabin," said Trip,

"Any particular reason for that, Captain Tucker?" said T'Les, taking a seat on Trip's couch with the poise of a queen.

"Frankly we've got bigger fish to fry than worry about our sleeping arrangements," said Trip.

"I suppose that is true," said T'Les, eyeing the man curiously now.

"Would you like some breakfast?"

"No, thank you," said T'Les. "Some hot tea would be nice."

Trip nodded, then walked a few steps to reach the wall mounted comm unit, where he reached the Captain's Steward.

"Yes, Captain," said Ellis.

"Hot tea, hot coffee, three cups, please," said Trip.

"Yes, Captain," said Ellis.

Severing that connection, Trip reached out for the Bridge, specifically, T'Pol's station.

"Yes, Captain?" said T'Pol.

"Find someone to take your place on the Bridge, Commander, and then report to my quarters," said Trip. "I have a surprise for you."

"On my way, Captain," said T'Pol.

Minutes later, mother and daughter met in the captain's cabin, and it would be fair to say that the meeting was emotional… by Vulcan standards. T'Les' eyes actually softened as she gave T'Pol the ta'al, and T'Pol's face exhibited a few facial tics as the commander worked on suppressing emotion.

Thankfully though, a call from the Bridge allowed Trip to extricate himself from T'Les' sweet scented grasp, so to speak: he'd have time to regroup before he locked horns with mama Vulcan once more, who no doubt intended to take him to task for accepting T'Pol into the Uhlans and taking her in harm's way… unfortunately, the looks on the faces of both Vulcans made it clear to Trip that the women had practically read his mind, and the way in which T'Les raised brow as Trip made his escape, was enough to tell him that all this was not over.

* * *

"There," said Trip, pointing out a landing spot to his pilot. "Park her right there."

"Yes, Captain," said the pilot, landing the Vulcan shuttle close by several Andorian shuttles.

The Andorians had arrived at Delta Vega the previous day, and given that Delta Vega was an cold planet, the Andorians were quite eager to set foot here… Better yet, they loved the place, and quite a number of them had come here in pursuit of recreation, though Trip was here in search for a very particular Andorian, and Trip spotted the man soon after leaving his shuttle…

"Shran!" said Trip.

"Trip," said Shran, the Andorian smiling openly.

And as Shran turned round, Trip saw that Shran held a illthak in his hands, the Vulcan name for what was essentially a large white furred rodent, some forty pounds or so in weight.

"Christ, Shran," said Trip, "throw that thing away, and go after some real game."

"Nonsense," said Shran, laughing. "Some of my people have already tasted this creature, and found it quite delicious. You will share it with me."

"I wouldn't eat that thing even if Lieutenant Talas rubbed it all over her body first," said Trip.

Shran laughed, and said, "So what are you doing here?"

"I contacted the Kumari, and Talas said you were down here," said Trip, eager to stay off Tek'Xzen as long as possible. "I thought I'd join you, and I have my rifle in the shuttle. There's a warm blooded lizard hereabouts, some four feet long, and it makes for a tasty meal. Tastes just like lobster. If I find one, we'll lunch together, and you will share it with me. I know a few places on Echo One which cook the wild game people bring in."

"Ahhh, Trip," said Shran, quite pleased at the prospect. "Now that sounds quite fine. But you'll taste my rodent as well."

"No!"

"You will taste my rodent," said Shran, "or you'll go back to your ship and lunch with T'Pol's mother."

"How the hell did you know about her?" said Trip, then remembered that he'd told Talas of T'Les' visit, in his urgency to find Shran. "Oh, Talas called to warn you I was coming."

"Yes," said Shran, grinning at Trip. "Now, will you taste my rodent?"

"Fine," said Trip. "But just one bite."

* * *

And finally, after a tasty and extended lunch of lizard and snow rat with Shran, Trip ran out of time, and eventually returned to Tek'Xzen… there were matters to attend to there, but T'Pol found Trip on Tek'Xzen soon after he'd boarded the ship and she'd let him know in no uncertain terms that T'Les expected to dine with him later that day, and after some dignified Vulcan pleading T'Pol extracted a promise of attendance from Trip. And so the man spent the rest of the day watching the clock with the morbid fascination of a man headed for the gallows, each passing minute bringing him ever closer to his appointed hour of doom.

That's not to say that Trip did not try to alter the situation to his benefit though, for war against the Gorn had taught the man something of strategy, thus when he finally reached the Captain's Mess the place was literally packed with buffers… Soval and Bronte, Alice and Shran, they were all in attendance in addition to Vulcan mother and daughter as Trip made way for the table.

Two places were open - the captain's chair, with T'Les on one side, T'Pol the other, and a chair at the other end of the table, at Shran's left hand, and just for a moment, Trip considered taking that chair, but a meaningful look from T'Pol and a raised brow from T'Les, made his decision for Trip.

"So you've finally stopped running, Captain Tucker," said T'Les, and though the look on her face was properly neutral, Trip sensed her amusement: he'd spent enough time with Vulcans the past five years to read them clearly.

"Many things to attend to in the fleet, T'Les," said Trip, and T'Les nodded sagely, while Shran snickered from his end of the table.

Trip shot Shran a dark look, but fortunately the captain's steward passed out the booze just then, which took Trip's mind off Shran… most everyone took wine, save for Trip who took a sparkling, bubbly sake, Soval who took tea, and Alice and Shran who began the evening's festivities with Andorian ale.

Just then, food began coming out, and as a courtesy to the Vulcans the meat was disguised or concealed as much as possible, though considering the fact that they'd all lived on Earth for the past five years, the subterfuge was probably unnecessary.

Judging by appetizers, it seemed that Chef had decided to go with a Turkish theme for tonight's dinner. Everything came out family style, allowing each guest to choose what they liked, and the variety was quite tantalizing. Creamy white cubes of salty Lebanese feta, small bowls of green and black olives, fava bean puree drizzled with virgin olive oil, grapeleaf rolls stuffed with saffron rice, raisins and walnuts, a variety of pickled onions, cucumbers and shredded beets, bulgur wheat balls stuffed with mozzarella cheese and deep fried, pan fried cubes of eggplant braised in a rich tomato & basil sauce and then topped with yogurt just before service… it was all very nice. As for the meat eaters, Chef added salted sardines drizzled with olive oil, baby squid deep fried in a light & crispy batter, smoked trout fillets, giant prawns pan fried in butter, grilled octopus wrapped in mint leaves and topped with fresh fig slices.

Chef clearly did well enough with the appetizers, and soon enough the talk around the table was of nothing but the man's skills and accomplished palate, and the captain's steward refilled everyone's drinks for the second time, save for Alice and Shran, who had served themselves from Shran's bottle and were now giggling like schoolgirls, on their fifth shot of Andorian ale already, and Trip could not help but look at them with a baleful eye, for they were having more fun at his table, than he.

"Ugh!" thought Trip. "The way they're going they'll be banging within the hour! I'd put money down on it…"

The main course came next, and here Chef played a conservative game, given the abundance of the appetizer course. Lamb shanks braised in a butter and saffron sauce with some oven baked potatoes and carrots for Trip, Shran and Bronte, and a roasted chicken breast instead of the lamb for Alice, for that good doctor pretended that eating chicken meant that she was almost a vegetarian, and finally, a wheat pilaf topped with roasted vegetables for the Vulcans. It was all more than adequate, far more than that.

"So, Captain Tucker," said T'Les, "would you care to tell me how you and my daughter got together?"

"She stowed away on my ship, then trapped me with the Vulcan Bond," said Trip, giving T'Les a hard grin.

"How rude of her," said T'Les, who'd glanced at T'Pol first, and received her daughter's nod as affirmation of the captain's words.

"You got that right," said Trip. "Before her little strong arm maneuver I was living the happy and carefree life of a bachelor, but she put a stop to that in a hurry. Now I pray for death at the hands of the Gorn."

"That is not funny, Captain Tucker," said T'Pol.

"Sorry, sugar muffin," said Trip, lowering his head in the token gesture of submission common to all broken men - that is to say, married men.

"And that is not funny either, Captain. In fact, the consensus in the fleet is that you are nowhere as funny as you believe yourself to be," said T'Pol, just before popping a dolma, a stuffed grapeleaf roll in her mouth.

Trip was about to give a tart reply, but his eye was drawn to the other end of the table, by a squeal which emanated from Alice - by the sound of it, Shran had just goosed the woman. Well, good for Shran… though Alice seemed to be a bit of a nerd, she had her charms, and if she'd done the Spuds MacKenzie with Phillips despite his orders, as the whispered rumors affirmed, well, she had some spirit. At least the other side of the table was well under control, where Soval and Bronte were discussing the finer points of dance, with Soval's support landing squarely on ballet, while Bronte passionately argued for the supremacy of Irish step dancing being the superior art.

"Where do you stand on the matter, Trip?" said Bronte, taking note of Trip's interest in the conversation.

"I'm with you, Bronte. Irish dance, of course," said Trip, which drew a jaundiced eye from T'Pol - the Vulcan loved ballet.

"So what are your intentions for my daughter?" said T'Les, moving a roasted cherry tomato about her plate.

"Well, I plan to bed her quite vigorously round about 2100 hours," said Trip. "With your permission of course."

Shran laughed at that, then turned his attentions to nibbling on Alice's ear.

"Hey, Blueskin," said Trip. "If you two are going to bang, take it in private."

"Good idea," said Shran, and the Andorian grabbed hold the almost empty bottle of ale. "We're both pretty drunk, Doctor. Think we can still do it?"

"Let's try," said Alice, and moments later, the two vanished as if they'd never been there.

T'Les noted the exchange, and said, "You run a lax ship here, Captain."

"We could all be dead tomorrow, T'Les. So long as my crew takes care of business, what they do in their off hours is their business."

"I suppose," said T'Les.

The food was largely gone by now, and the table cleared, and the steward passed out a simple but tasty blackberry cobbler topped with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream for all, and Trip nodded in approval after his first taste. Chef had a delicate hand with sugar, retaining the berrie's tartness, while taking the edge off that tartness with just enough sweetness, and no more than that.

A period of small talk followed and a good time was had by all, and then Soval excused himself, followed a few minutes later by Bronte - Trip had no idea why they even bothered. They fooled no one.

"Well, I should take my leave, Captain," said T'Les. "Some meditation is in order. I trust we'll get to know each other better during the rest of my stay here?"

"Count on it, T'Les," said Trip, for sometime during the evening he'd mellowed out on the old girl: she was a good egg.

"I will show you to your quarters, mother," said T'Pol.

"Very well, though I will make certain to send you off a bit before 2100 hours," said T'Les, which drew an inscrutable look from T'Pol.

And with that, dinner was over.

Trip thanked the steward, passed through the kitchen to thank Chef for an outstanding dinner, and then he made a last pass of the Bridge.

"SoKoun's scouts just reported that the Tholians passed through their lines on the way for Delta Vega," said Ke'Zrell. "They'll be here by noon tomorrow."

"Good," said Trip. "Hit the kitchen when your shift is over, Ke'Zrell. Chef outdid himself tonight, and I asked him to save some food for you."

Ke'Zrell grunted, which passed for a flowery 'Thank you' among Klingons, and with that Trip headed for his quarters.

* * *

Elsewhere on the ship:

"Oh, God! Oh, God!" said Alice, panting like a Saint Bernard on a hot summer's day beneath Shran's vigorous thrusts, for although the spirits residing in every bottle of Andorian ale had abducted Shran and left behind a sick pervert, what remained of that Imperial Guard was still able to rise to the challenge presented in Alice's cabin. "Oh, God! Oh, God!"

"Yes, Doctor," said Shran, and Alice was too wound up to sense the Andorian's amusement. "Pray to him for deliverance, for that Andorian ale will surely fuel my passions through the night, for your ultimate benefit."

"Oh, God! Oh, God!" said Alice, her face contorting with pleasure, and by the morning, the good doctor was hoarse and bleary eyed, while Shran practically danced out of her bed and out of her cabin, as spry as a Lusitano colt on a bright and sunny day.


	20. Chapter 20

**— Chapter 20 —**

* * *

Just as predicted, the Tholians reached Delta Vega at noon the next day, and the conference called for by the Romulans began… with one odd wrinkle. The Tholians would not attend the meeting in person due to the unsuitable environmental factors on Delta Vega, and when the Tholians opened visual contact with the attendees, the cause for that was clear, for the Tholians seemed to be a life form so thoroughly alien that they made the Gorn seem positively mundane by comparison.

In fact, the Tholians looked nothing like the other species gathered at Delta Vega. They possessed an extended horizontal thorax which was supported by six vaguely insectoid legs, and atop that thorax sat a torso which supported two arms, each arm ending in a hand capped by three abnormally long fingers. And then there was a neck which supported a head, from which two bright bio-luminescent spots gazed out, presumably the Tholian's eyes. And then the entire creature was a study in straight lines, for the Tholians were covered in a see through carapace which seemed crystalline, and allowed one to see some form of fluid moving sluggishly within the Tholian, the entire creature radiating a bright orange color through that crystalline carapace. Odd as hell, interesting as hell, but all that really mattered was that the Tholians stood against the Gorn, and that was more than enough for everyone gathered here.

In short order they all got down to work though, and given that the Romulan proposals for collaboration were scrupulously fair, the Articles of Federation were ratified within six hours, and with that task accomplished, a new political entity was formed, and one without precedent for this region of space. Everyone should have been happy, but nothing ever went that easy on Delta Vega… and oddly enough, the latest thread of discord reached Delta Vega from EarthGov, via its representatives in StarFleet.

* * *

Ajan woke, yawned and looked about her new cabin on ch'Tang, the Klingon Bird-of-Prey given Malcolm by the Klingon High Council, and she was quite pleased with herself for she'd managed to extend her assignment as a liaison between the High Council and Captain Reed, and in the process got herself assigned a berth as the ch'Tang's Helm officer. She'd always possessed an impressive sense of spatial awareness, and that was noted as soon as she joined the Imperial Navy in the way she flew her military troop transport shuttle, virtually as an extension of her body, and after undergoing a period of strenuous training on larger and larger ships and then a demanding series of tests in which she'd proved her skills over and over again, she'd been funneled into the Warship Navigation program, which had brought Ajan here and now.

Ajan slipped from her generously sized bunk and moved to stand before the body length mirror in her cabin, where she smiled appreciatively… there were a couple of new bite marks on her breasts, some bruises on her wrists where Malcolm had restrained her to her bunk the previous night, and he surely carried her claw marks on his back, which had been the reason the man had tied her to her bunk in the first place. In the Klingon way, she'd tasted his blood, his semen, and his sweat the previous night, and in return the man had put her through her paces with a ruthlessness which had been intoxicating… her entire body was sore this morning, but it was a good soreness.

She showered then, and the hot water loosened her muscles… the junior Helm officer was manning Helm this shift under the eye of Captain Reed's 2nd in command, which gave Ajan the day all for herself… a workout in the gym should fit the bill, after which Ajan intended to lure Captain Reed to Qo'noS, for a BBQ meat lunch - she knew an adorable little place which allowed one to select their own baby targ to grace their table. The heart and liver were spiced and served tartare as part of the appetizers, while the piglet was stuffed and smoked over a bed of hot coals. Delicious, and a fair compromise between a Klingon's taste for meat, and a Human's puzzling requirement that their meat be dead, and generally cooked… still, the tartare tidbits should be a start towards getting Malcolm to eat like a civilized being - he would need to fit in if he was going to remain in the Empire - and he would remain in the Empire, if Ajan had her way.

So Ajan dressed in the form hugging spandex workout uniform which the Klingons favored, and off she went for ch'Tang's small gym… once she got there though, Ajan gave a silent sigh. Danny Mac was already here, and though she was not aware of the reasons for the bad blood between Danny and Malcolm, Malcolm's dislike for the man was palpable.

"Hello, love," said Danny, face splitting into a grin when Ajan entered the gym.

"Hello," said Ajan, and moved to the other side of the gym, hoping the man would take the hint: no luck - Danny followed her.

"Kind of hot in here, no?" said Danny.

"It seems fine to me," said Ajan.

"No, it's hot," said Danny. "You don't mind?"

Without waiting for a reply the man slipped out of the uniform's top, worked it down to his waist with a shit eating grin, then tied the sleeves round his waist, and Ajan looked at the Human with a cynical eye. Now Ajan had to admit that Danny Mac was certainly an attractive man, pleasantly muscular, very cut, but still… he was being a bit ham fisted here.

"What's going on here, Danny?" said Ajan.

"Oh, I'm just hoping to lead you into temptation, Ajan," said Danny with a smile, and just then Malcolm walked into the gym.

* * *

"…and so," said Admiral Forrest, looking at the men gathered round him in the conference room on Echo One, "on President Sanders' orders, any agreements reached between you, the Romulans, the Klingons and the Tholians are null and void, and you are all directed to stand down, proceed to the Titan shipyards orbiting Mars, where you will relinquish your ships, and then disperse as you will. Those ships will be there, available for you, if Earth or its colonies should ever be in danger."

This meeting between StarFleet's representatives, and the captains of the Bands was well attended by a eight of the captains currently at Delta Vega, as well as hundreds of curious onlookers, all gathered here at the Admiral's request. Among them were gathered a few Romulan and Klingon representatives, Shran for the Imperial Guards and a visible representative of his Emperor, while the Tholians watched the proceedings via video feed.

The Admiral's words caused a raucous explosion of anger, mixed in with a good measure of derisive laughter. Even the Vulcans in the room were visibly angry at Forrest's orders, though in their case the anger was only apparent in their stiff posture, narrowed eyes, and lips pressed tightly together… it was a cold anger, but still a noticeable one.

However, the noise level in the room fell off when Tucker raised his hand for silence, though the agitation in the men gathered here was still palpable.

"We will do none of that," said Tucker, and the room burst into applause, which didn't please the captain. "Listen, shut the hell up, or I'll clear the room save for the captains."

The room quieted down again, and Forrest looked round, then said, "Captain Tucker, maybe you didn't understand me. Maybe none of you understood me. The days of humoring your enterprise here are over. You are ordered, on President Sanders' authority as President of EarthGov, to follow his instructions."

The room remained largely quiet, though a nasty undercurrent flowed through it along with some suppressed whispers among the hundreds gathered here, but it all ended when Tucker spoke.

"You're on Delta Vega, Admiral," said Tucker. "This is not the Sol system, and Sanders has no authority here. You're out of your jurisdiction, Admiral."

"You, the Humans gathered here, are still Earth citizens," said Forrest, "and thus subject to the President's authority, and for what it's worth, the Vulcan High Command makes these same demands of the Vulcans in the Bands or serving the Bands on Delta Vega."

"That's a ridiculous position to take, Admiral," said Trip. "So if we were all transported in the Delta Quadrant, we'd still be bound to take orders from Earth?"

"You're not as far off as that, Captain," said Forrest, wishing he'd known Tucker before he'd gone rogue… oh, he'd spoken to Archer about Tucker, and Archer even sat with him as he addressed this motley crew of freelancers, but it was not enough: he'd not found the lever to cow this man, yet, "and as citizens of Earth you're subject to the President's orders."

"Citizen is a legal designation," said Tucker, "and as far as I know, the courts have never ruled that the President's writ could reach across galaxies to enforce his will. But you can leave the issue of citizenship aside, because we're men and women of flesh and blood, and we stand against the Gorn whether Sanders says yea, or nay."

A murmur of approval traveled through the room at Tucker's words, but stilled when Archer spoke.

"Think it over, Trip," said Archer. "Sanders isn't playing this time."

"No, he is not," said Forrest. "If you defy his orders, the convoys from Earth will stop, communications between the Bands and your families back on Earth will be blocked, and you will be forbidden to return to the Sol system, or it's out-system colonies, on pain of arrest and imprisonment. In effect you will all be declared outlaws."

Forrest looked round him to gauge the mood in the room now, though it was largely unreadable. There should have been a visible sign of dismay at his words, but most everyone here had a neutral look to them, save for Vulcans, who looked as stiff as they'd seemed this whole time.

"Well we thank you for your time, Admiral," said Trip. "Any among the Bands which wish to join you on your way back to Earth are free to do so, using transport vessels, not ships of war. As for the rest of us, we will decline to obey the President's orders."

"Trip," said Archer, but Forrest cut in.

"We will give you time to discuss this matter at length," said Forrest, "and then we'll contact you again."

And with that the StarFleet representatives stood and left the room in concert with Admiral Forrest… it could have ended there, it should have ended there, but Sanders' orders to Forrest orders demanded more in case his orders were rebuffed.

* * *

"Oh Christ, Danny, not this shite again," said Malcolm.

"What?" said Danny. "I wasn't doing a thing."

"Yeah, right," said Malcolm. "Listen, get it into your bloody head, trying to hump every woman in my life won't fix things between us."

"You damned right it won't," said Danny with an angry snarl, "but I'm willing to try! We were mates since we were kids, Malcolm! I thought that meant something. I guess I was a fool."

"Oh, it meant something, Danny," said Malcolm, "but sometimes life throws us some curves we just don't see coming."

"You took Daniel Radcliff from me!" said Danny. "I loved him! And now I'm goin—"

"I didn't 'take' Radcliff from you," said Malcolm. "Your sister—"

"Liar!" said Danny, and the man seemed ready to swing on Malcolm.

"What's going on here?" said Ajan, stepping between the two men. "You two obviously have a past, so why all this animosity between the two of you?"

"This wanker you're laying up with took from me the only one I ever loved," said Danny.

"Oh, shut the fuck up," said Malcolm, exasperated with this whole thing. "For the last time Daniel Radcliff was—!"

"Who is this Daniel Radcliff?" said Ajan, and both men reached for their comm units. "A former lover you both shared?"

Though a comm unit's primary purpose was communication, it also acted as a storehouse for a number of audio files, video files and photo images, and almost as one, both comm units displayed a similar photo… Danny's photo showed Danny embracing Radcliff as they gazed deeply into each other's eyes, while Malcolm's photo showed Malcolm spooning Daniel Radcliff, the two seemingly quite content to share a bed together.

"What is this?" said Ajan, for Daniel Radcliff was the biggest, dumbest looking dog which Ajan had ever seen. "What am I looking at?"

"Why that's Daniel Radcliff, he is," said Danny. "A Neopolitan Mastiff. The finest dog that ever lived!"

"The finest," said Malcolm, nodding in full agreement with Danny.

"BaQant urr!" said Ajan. "How long have the two of you been arguing over this stupid looking mutt?"

"Hey now!" said Danny. "You watch yourself, Klingon! Daniel Radcliff was of the purest bloodlines, and I'll wager his lineage was far purer than yours! He was practically in the peerage, for Christ's sake!"

"He's right!" said Malcolm. "There's no call for that sort of langua—"

"How long have you two been arguing over this meathead?" said Ajan in a most vicious monotone, for the Klingon was at the end of her rope.

"Ten, twelve years," said Danny. "What of it?"

"Is this Radcliff still alive?" said Ajan.

"Well no," said Reed. "Daniel Radcliff had a massive coronary a few years back—"

"Because you paid no mind to his diet!" said Danny.

"…but it's the principle which counts here," said Malcolm, as if Danny had never spoken.

"Karro'Dan!" said Ajan. "We war against the Gorn, and you two still argue over a fat assed canine that's long gone to his grave? I'd jettison that mutt out an air lock if he was here now! Idiots! You're both idiots!"

With that the Klingon threw her hands up and stormed from the room, and Danny looked at Malcolm, then said, "What the hell do you see in her, mate? I mean if she can't understand about Daniel Radcliff, she's no good for you. You know that!"

"You may have a point, Danny" said Malcolm, nodding sagely. "Radcliff was something very special, wasn't he?"

"He was that, Malcolm, he was that."

* * *

Forrest's move, when it came, failed badly. As ordered, he requested a meeting on Tek'Xzen, with Captain Tucker, and any other captains on Delta Vega. A private meeting, said Forrest, just he and his six attaches, to discuss matters with the captains of the Bands without the interruptions of the last meeting. And so Forrest had boarded his shuttle, along with six MACOs dressed in StarFleet naval uniforms, under orders to arrest all available captains and spirit them to Earth, to stand trial, and be made example of, so that all the Bands might see and understand that the rules had changed.

Of course, men and women who faced the Gorn and lived to tell about it were no fools… Forrest's shuttle was scanned on the way as a matter of course, in order to make certain that the good admiral wasn't actually delivering a tactical nuke on board Tek'Xzen to enforce Sanders' orders… but though the scans showed no such military ordnance on board the shuttle, they showed that every one of Forrest's attaches carried a concealed phaser pistol and a knife on their persons, as well as a submachine phaser rifle concealed in their briefcases.

Naturally enough, the shuttle was denied access to Tek'Xzen's Launch Bay, after which Trip told Forrest to fuck off back to Earth, and with that, the men and women serving the Bands, had effectively become outlaws.

* * *

**LML just castigated me for the character of Daniel Radcliff, but I'll have you all know that Daniel Radcliff is my MOST compelling character, and I stand by that! Certainly he is far more compelling than anything which LM— No, I won't go there! Serenity now!


	21. Chapter 21

— **Chapter 21 —**

* * *

It was just two days after Forrest and his ships left Delta Vega that a flight of three Klingon scouts unexpectedly came across a great Hegemony fleet gathering at Evora, and they promptly pulled back while still at long range, in order to report that fleet's location to the Klingon High Council. Thing was, the Hegemony's fleet location at Evora meant something: too far from Tholian space, too far from the newly shrunken borders of the Klingon Empire, Evora was like spear, aimed directly for the Vulcan/Andorian/Earth systems.

Of course that location could be a purposely chosen misdirection just in case of discovery by the Federation, but the probabilities remained what they were, and so the High Council notified both the Romulans and the Bands on Delta Vega of their discovery. Given the greater stealth abilities of both the Romulans and the Bands, let them monitor that Hegemony fleet, and report to the rest of the Federation.

* * *

"Hello," said T'Pol, as Trip walked into the captain's quarters, only to find T'Pol and her mother sitting on the couch.

"Hi," said Trip.

"I hope you don't mind us intruding here, Trip," said T'Pol. "Some maintenance and upgrade work on Deck 9 took a number of the electrical systems offline, some of which service our cabins."

"I know, T'Pol," said Trip. "It's all right. I'm going to order some food. You two hungry?"

"I could eat," said T'Les, and T'Pol nodded.

"What would like?" said Trip.

"Surprise us, if you would," said T'Les, and T'Pol shrugged, and nodded.

Twenty minutes later the captain's steward rolled a cart into the room, and began laying things out on the 4-top table in the captain's dinette, and the scents coming from the food quickly drew Trip, T'Les and T'Pol to the table.

"Thank you," said Trip, nodding at his steward.

"My pleasure, Captain," said the steward. "Anything else?"

Trip looked at the Vulcans, but they looked well pleased with what they saw set out for them.

"That's it, I think," said Trip, and with that the steward left the captain's cabin.

"What is all this?" said T'Les, for though she was used to many Human foods from her time on Earth, she'd not sampled anywhere near all the variety which Earth had to offer.

"Your cup, mother," said T'Pol. "Slide it to me please."

T'Les did so without taking her eyes off the food, and T'Pol filled her mother's cup, then Trip's and then her own, with hot Jasmine tea.

"Trip?" said T'Les. "I know you are the foodie here."

"Oh, sorry T'Les," said Trip. "You have the thin Viet style veggie spring rolls for you and Polly, shrimp for myself. A vegetarian pho, a thin aromatic soup for you, and a seafood pho for myself. I think you'll like yours: a vegetable broth seasoned with shiitake mushrooms, shallots, ginger, soy sauce, a touch of sugar, cinnamon and star anise, in which you'll find rice noodles, pan fried cubes of tofu and fresh shredded coriander on top. Try it, and if you don't like it we'll get you something else, but I know T'Pol loves it."

"I am not surprised," said T'Les, who'd just tasted the pho. "It is wonderful."

"Good," said Trip, sliding the plate of spring rolls towards T'les. "Dig in."

"Any word from the scouts?" said T'Pol after a few spoonfuls of her own soup.

"Yes," said Trip. "Three hours ago. The Klingons were right. There's a huge fleet gathering at Evora."

"What are we going to do about it?" said T'Pol.

"We are going to maintain a balanced stance for now," said Trip, "while our scouts canvas Hegemony space. We want to make sure this isn't a feint, to draw our attention from a strike elsewhere."

"I understand," said T'Pol, "but Earth seems to be the logical target for this fleet, given our raid in Hegemony space."

"I agree," said Trip, "and in view of that fact I've asked the Tholians for a very special form of help. They've agreed."

"What type of help?" said T'Pol.

"That's a secret," said Trip.

"You don't trust me?"

"I do," said Trip. "I just need a break from it all while I eat."

"Of course," said T'Pol. "I apologize."

T'Les had watched the interchange between her daughter and her mate with a great deal of disguised interest, for T'Les had never had opportunity to study her daughter in her capacity as a military officer during her time with the Vulcan Navy, and the quiet competence which T'Pol exuded now was heartening… just as interesting, was her mode of communication with her Human mate.

There was an easy comfort to their conversation, a natural courtesy and clear affection, which pleased T'Les. T'Pol could have done much worse than Captain Tucker, in her search for a mate… on many nights on Earth, T'Les had tossed and turned with worry over her broken daughter's future, but it now seemed that particular worry was a thing of the past. Now of course, there was a different sort of worry for T'Les, for T'Pol could easily die while standing against the Gorn, but at least she would die content, for T'Pol was clearly at peace within herself now.

By now, the pho and spring rolls were followed by squash blossoms stuffed with goat cheese and pan fried in butter, braised eggplant stuffed with faux shrimp and topped with sweet chilli sauce, Jasmine scented rice and a tasty seaweed salad which had been harvested from the chilled seas on Delta Vega. That seemed to satisfy the Vulcans, but Trip added some grilled lemongrass pork skewers for himself. Lastly came a nice serving of caramelized coconut flan with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and some French roast coffee, and with that the meal came to an end.

All in all, the three family members spent the next hour speaking courteously for T'Les was quite interested in Trip, but eventually T'Les noted her daughter rolling her eyes towards the door: the cheeky girl wanted her gone! T'Les raised a brow, and T'Pol gave a slight nod.

"Well," said T'Les, "I have enjoyed myself immensely this evening, Captain Tucker, but I should leave you now. I think that my daughter wishes to copulate with you."

And with that T'Les gave the slightest of smiles, a minute lift at the corners of her mouth, even as T'Pol hung her head and gave voice to her frustration through a heartfelt sigh.

"Ok," said Trip. "And with that, we'll call it a night. Sleep well, T'Les."

"The same to you both," said T'Les, as she glided from the room with the regal grace of a swan.

* * *

It was just as she'd suspected, realized Ajan upon stepping into ch'Tang's Mess Hall. Captain Reed was here now to eat an early breakfast, and with a cross look for the man, Ajan made a pass through the food line. Minutes later she reached the captain's table with a metal thermos full of kaf, a metal cup, and a metal plate… and Ajan slammed all three items down on the table one by one, knowing just how much Malcolm valued his peace first thing in the morning, and at that Reed gave Ajan a glance through narrowed eyes.

Not satisfied with the man's reaction, Ajan passed through the line once more, and returned to the table with a box of Klingon cereal, a small box of milk, and three small serving cups: the first held blood beetles, small but lively, the second held redberry slugs, and the third held baby mole crabs, and all these creatures still living, for Ajan knew that Malcolm found the combination of mare's milk, cereal and live additives to be disgusting.

"If you're going to eat those bugs for breakfast, why don't you choose another table?" said Malcolm.

"Because I like this table," said Ajan.

"Fine, I'll move," said Malcolm, and Ajan slammed her cup down on the table once again, even as the other hand grabbed hold of Malcolm.

"Keep me company," said Ajan, and the Klingon's words sounded more an order, than a request. "I insist."

"No," said Malcolm.

"Fine," said Ajan, making a tactical retreat in order to maintain contact with her adversary. "I'll just keep the milk and cereal."

Reed took his seat once more on hearing that, and moments later the creepy crawlies were gone, so Malcolm said, "So why the temper tantrum this morning, Ajan?"

"You've been avoiding me since that blow up with Danny over Daniel Radcliff. And you locked me out of your cabin last night!" said Ajan in an accusatory tone, banging her empty cup on the table once more in order to emphasize her words.

"Stop that!" said Malcolm. "And what did you expect? You dragged Daniel Radcliff's name through the mud yesterday!"

That much was truth, so Ajan just looked at Malcolm with an exasperated look on her face.

"You called him fat assed, a meathead, you cast aspersions on his breeding, you expressed a willingness to shoot him out an airlock!" said Malcolm.

"We're talking about a dog, Malcolm."

"He was not just a dog!" said Malcolm, slapping his hand on the tabletop. "We were the best of friends!"

"All right, Malcolm," said Ajan, choosing to act rationally here, for she sensed that Malcolm would never let go of this thing otherwise. "I will never again disparage Daniel Radcliff. I will now love Daniel Radcliff as you loved him."

Malcolm went 'Hmmphf' but said nothing more.

"Satisfied?" said Ajan.

"I suppose so," said Malcolm, "if you truly mean it."

"I do," said Ajan, taking advantage of the fact that Malcolm had turned his head to refill his cup of tea by rolling her eyes quite brazenly. "Of course I do, Malcolm."

* * *

"Ah," said Alice, as T'Les walked into Tek'Surron's turbo-lift. "Hello, T'Les. We met the other night at the captain's table. Alice Harper, one of Tek'Xzen's doctors."

"Yes," said T'Les. "I remember you, Doctor. How are you?"

"I'm well, T'Les. What deck?

"Deck 12, please."

"Are you certain?" said Alice. "That deck is largely dedicated to fleet operations."

"I've decided to stay with my daughter, rather than return to Earth," said T'Les, "and as I understand it, that now makes me an outlaw. So I have volunteered my services to Tek'Xzen, and I'll be working in Science, under my daughter's command."

"Really?" said Alice, pressing the button for Deck 12. "A bit awkward, eh?"

"Not in the least," said T'Les. "Logic dictates my behavior, as it does T'Pol's. I will have no trouble taking orders from my daughter in her official capacity."

"Well, good luck with that," said Alice, as the lift came to a stop and the door opened to Deck 12.

"Thank you, Doctor," said T'Les, then exited the lift.

Minutes later, T'Les found Tek'Xzen's Science department, and entered the designated quarters to find a dozen or so people working here, T'Pol among them.

"Ah, T'Les," said T'Pol, in her official capacity. "Right on time."

T'Les nodded, and said, "How may I be of service, Commander?"

"Varsek is working on a number of sensor sweeps we've taken while in Hegemony space," said T'Pol. "They're much sparser in information than full sensor scans, but we were running for our lives and so we had no time to waste, you see. Now, your mathematical skills are the best in the department, and that will come in handy here. You need to study our algorithms, optimize the equations to eliminate irrelevant data, while clarifying the relevant data, and when you're finished send the algorithms back to Varsek's workstation. That will take you a few days, but never fear. Work never stops here."

"Understood, Commander," said T'Les, and with that T'Pol gave her mother a supportive look, and then left the Science department for the Bridge.

* * *

At Evora, holding the center of the Hegemony's fleet was the Tras-Kkaj, Ss'karr's flagship… the Priest-King had assumed command of this fleet on the Conclave's orders, all in preparation for a campaign which would wipe the Andorians, Vulcans and most especially the Humans from the known universe, and allow the Gorn to fulfill the mandates of the Black Sun, even as they avenged themselves for the losses suffered at the hands of The Breed and Black Uhlans.

Although it was technically in bad taste to hold a grudge against the Humans, for Nemesis came to purify his people of all weakenss, Ss'karr cared for none of that. He'd lost friends and family in that cursed raid, and he meant to repay the Humans back a thousand fold, and take the rest of that Vulcan filth out with the Humans… as for the Andorians, he meant to save them for last, for their fighting spirit was supposed to be second to none. The excitement caused by these thoughts so agitated Ss'karr, that he clenched his fist, crumpling the thick broze cup he held into a fifth of it's former diameter.

* * *

**the part about shooting Daniel Radcliff out an airlock was LML's original idea, an idea which I stole to enrich my story, as a payback for LML's cruel comment in my review section!


	22. Chapter 22

— **Chapter 22 —**

* * *

"Here, Soval," said Bronte, holding out a glass tumbler a moment after stepping up to the couch upon which Soval had made himself comfortable.

"Thank you, Bronte," said Soval, and a moment later the Vulcan took a sip of lychee infused sake: Vulcans had rarely consumed alcohol before Vulcan's death, but many things had changed since then, and though Soval was not a heavy drinker by any means, he allowed himself some minor vices, and this lychee infused sake was one such vice. The other vice was a tasty candy made of sweetened shredded coconut, dipped in tasty dark chocolate.

"You're welcome, Soval," said Bronte, gently brushing aside some of Soval's hair. "You'll need a haircut soon, if you intend to keep the prim and proper look of a distinguished ambassador."

"Mmmm, hmmm," said Soval after taking a sip of sake, and the Vulcan reached out to take hold of Bronte, in order to draw her closer.

Bronte felt Soval's touch on the inside of her thigh even through the sturdy weave of the cast off flight suit which she'd picked up from her sister, Adalene, who flew a transport shuttle between Delta Vega and the various ships in the never end task of restocking what was now essentially one large fleet.

"What are you doing, cowboy?" said Bronte, for Soval's hand was clenching and unclenching like a cat's paw with her tender inner thigh beneath it.

"Enjoying my sake," said Soval, "after which I intend to pin a tail on your donkey. Did I say that right?"

"I don't know. I don't even think that's a sentence, Soval, but you're welcome to pin my tail, or take a shot at my pinata, or whatever other Mexican euphemisms you come up with," said Bronte, her hand caressing Soval's left ear, "but remember that you have to meet Tucker in forty minutes."

"I remember."

"What's he want with you?" said Bronte, drawing the flight suit's zipper down towards her navel, which allowed her breasts to spill out from the overall suit's confines.

Soval looked up, and though his face was quietly intent, there was a twinkle in his eyes which Bronte easily recognized by now.

"Soval? I said what's Trip want with you?"

"Ah, sorry," said Soval. "I have no idea, vorcha."

"Vorcha?" said Bronte, pulling free of Soval, so that she might slip out of her flight suit.

Soval watched Bronte undress with an open appreciation for her beauty, and Bronte had no complaints with the man - either as a virtue of his species, or just as a factor of Soval's personality, the two of them had clicked together quite well despite the sizable difference in their ages, for Soval was the very epitome of an iron hand in a velvet glove, and Bronte responded well to that approach.

Frankly, if she was being candid with herself, Bronte clearly acknowledged that she had a manipulative side to her character which could not resist trying to control Soval and so she'd subtly tested the Vulcan a number of times, and Soval had passed each test with flying colors, which was gratifying, and frankly quite frustrating at times. Now one could safely suppose that a lifetime of diplomacy would render Soval immune to covert manipulation, and so Bronte had tried open manipulation, starting a fight with Soval on purpose, to see how he would deal with uncontrolled Human emotions… the effect of it all was comparable to ocean waves slamming against a granite cliff, and just about as effective, and so eventually Bronte had run out of steam, laid down to take a nap, and when she woke all was well.

"What is a vorcha, Soval?" said Bronte.

"A vorcha is essentially a Vulcan ferret, Bronte," said Soval, making a funny bouncing motion with his free hand, "and it has an amusing mode of locomotion."

"You find me amusing, Soval?" said Bronte, kicking aside the flight suit pooled about her ankles.

"Yes," said Soval. "So amuse me now, Bronte."

Well that was as good a suggestion as any Bronte had heard all day, and moments later she'd knelt and worked Soval's cock free of his clothing, and soon after, the Vulcan who'd made a reputation of being an enigma to those he faced across the negotiation table was clearly in the throes of barely controlled passion as Bronte used hands and lips, tongue and mouth to tease Soval mercilessly, glancing at Soval's face quite often in order to gauge the Vulcan's state.

As for Soval, glancing down at Bronte, her face revealed now and then through that glorious mane of glossy black hair, the Vulcan could not help but take pleasure in her. So playful, so full of life, in stark contrast to his formerly Bonded mate.

Oh yes, Soval had been Bonded once, though it had been a weak Bond - the ties which had been initiated between he and his mate in their childhood had never much grown past that point, and when they met as adults there was no true desire there on either side - T'iselle had a medical practice which confined her to Vulcan and so she truly had no desire to marry a Vulcan who served off-planet for months or years before returning home for a bit, only to depart again soon after his arrival. In turn, Soval found T'iselle to be uninspiring, focused largely on her business, and thus constantly talking of bills, and pressures, and cursed regulations… still, both logic and custom carried weight with them both, and they'd both consummated their childhood tie into a Bond, but it was a weak tie between them, and so when T'iselle died in a vehicle accident, Soval lived, unlike those close Bonds in which the severing of one end of the Bond through death, inevitably dragged the other party into the grave. And now this…

As for Bronte, she'd had her fun toying with Soval, and now she craved her own satisfaction. It was silly - the man always tried to resist the pleasures she induced in him for some silly Vulcan reason, but eventually, she always prevailed and got what she yearned for when she glimpsed the need in Soval's eyes, felt it in his touch, heard it in his voice, and so Bronte impaled herself on Soval's cock with a moan and sat herself atop the man's lap, only to begin a slow sensual grind that always brought him off. The man had stamina though, and made her work for it, and for that Bronte was grateful, for it gave her more than enough time to reach her own peaks.

* * *

And finally, the day had come that the Hegemony armada stationed at Evora began it's planned flight towards the Vulcan, Andorian and Sol star systems under Ss'karr's command, and that Priest-King took with him 17,000 ships, many of them build decades earlier in preparation for a moment such as this, for the day when Nemesis would come and drive his people to purify the known universe.

Against these numbers, Ss'karr expected to face some 6,000 - 8,000 enemy ships, for the Gorn were not blind to the increased contact between the Human/Andorian duo which had always worked together, and the Klingon and Tholian principalities. Toss in Earth's defense forces, and Ss'karr knew the odds still favored him quite heavily. The time to pay all these wretched beings for their part in the nuclear fires which consumed two Gorn homeworlds was finally here, and Ss'karr could barely contain his excitement.

Part of that had been the ritual he'd just conducted… ten Gorn females, just come into maturity, were sacrificed, by his hand, along with a fellow Priest-King of high rank who'd suffered defeat against the Klingons… his blood had served to atone for his failures and assure him a glorious afterlife, while the females' blood was spilled to honor Nemesis… and Ss'karr had done it right, taken his time, taken nine hours in fact, to honor them all by giving them a most painful death and exit from this plane of existence, thus invoking the Black Sun's blessings on the dead, and the living. Now the time of battle was almost here, and Ss'karr's entire world had shrunk down to this one campaign, for leading the Red Talon fleet to victory was all that mattered to the Priest-King now.

Unbeknown to the Gorn as they began their flight, they were shadowed by cloaked Romulan scouts which meant to pace the Gorn fleet all the way to their target, and even now, one of these scouts sent warning to all Federation members using an encrypted micro-burst transmission which mimicked the normal background noise found in space.

* * *

The response to the Romulan transmission was immediate, for this attack had long been expected.

From the Klingon Empire, 1,100 ships of war began moving for Delta Vega, paralleling the Gorn fleet's movement, though these two fleets were of course far outside each other's sensor range. These 1,100 ships were all the Klingons could spare now, for they'd taken a beating from the Gorn the past five years, and they still kept a reserve force in the Empire, in case the Gorn planned other moves at this time.

The Tholians sent only 400 ships, for Ss'karr had battered them brutally in his campaigns in Assembly space, but these 400 ships were something quite special, something which Captain Tucker had requested after studying the Tholian technical data files, which were offered for inspection, once the Tholians had joined the Federation. There was no need for debate in the Assembly, and these Tholian ships were promptly dispatched for Delta Vega as the Assembly's contribution to the force which would resist the Gorn armada.

The Vulcan and Andorian systems were located in close proximity to the other, and so the Andorian contribution to the massed Federation fleet would be the first to arrive at Delta Vega - 1,900 ships of war, each of high caliber, each packed with Imperial Guards, and the entire assemblage commanded by Zarre-Tal, the Andorian Emperor, for the Andorians were not concerned about their planet in their absence.

The entire Andorian population lived beneath massive ice shelves which sat atop even more massive rock shelves. The Gorn could bombard Andoria with nukes all they liked and it would not matter a whit, but first they'd have to locate the Andorian cities through extensive scouting, for Gorn sensors would not penetrate deeply enough to disclose the Andorians to their enemies. Even if they poisoned the atmosphere it would not matter, for Andorians rarely visited the surface save in passing, and as for water and air, those were already purified as a matter of course even now. Now it was conceivable, though unlikely, that the reptilian Gorn might send ground troops to icy Andoria, and the Andorians would not begrudge them that adventure, for Andoria hosted a martial culture in which almost every household was armed, atop the advantages which would come from the fact that the Andorians would be fighting on familiar ground and in defense of their homes, all while outnumbering the Gorn millions to one. Good luck to the Gorn: they'd need it in spades.

On Delta Vega the same approach was followed, for the surface base of Echo One was always there for convenience. Many of the supplies were already stored beneath the ground in caverns deep enough to evade sensor scans - it was the first thing the Bands checked for when they settled Delta Vega, for they'd expected a Gorn attack long before this, and so within a day, Delta Vega seemed to be a frigid desert boasting a large, but abandoned encampment.

* * *

The chime in Trip's Ready Room aboard Tek'Xzen sounded, and Trip said, "Come in."

In response, the computer slid aside the room's door, granting Soval access… to a commandeered Vulcan ship.

"Ah, Ambassador," said Trip. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course, Captain," said Soval, seating himself in compliance with the captain's hand gesture which suggested he make himself comfortable.

"I need a favor, Ambassador."

"I am listening."

"I need to send you back to Earth, Ambassador," said Trip. "I've already dispatched warning of the Gorn fleet's movements, but Sanders is an idiot. Make it clear to both Humans and Vulcans that the time to fight has come, and make it clear that we have to stick together to beat the Gorn down. Understand?"

"Perfectly," said Soval.

"Good," said Trip. "We'll join you as soon as all the Federation members get here."

"Join me?" said Soval. "Then you do not mean to make a stand at Delta Vega?"

"No," said Trip.

"I see," said Soval. "Very well. I will do as you ask, Captain Tucker."

"Good. I'm giving you a ship to ferry you to Earth, Soval, but make it clear to both StarFleet and Sanders that if he interferes with my ship or my crew, if he arrests my men, I'll hold them all responsible, and I'll be there soon enough."

"I understand," said Soval, a bit agitated now, though not a trace of that showed on the Vulcan's countenance. "I will tell you that Sanders is a bad choice for president in dealing with this situation. He is an able administrator, but he's also quite prideful. He may ignore your… request."

"That cannot be helped, Soval," said Trip, "but you pass my warning on to Sanders."

"Will do," said Soval.

"And pass one to your people as well," said Trip. "Don't let Sanders sucker them into trying to intimidate us. We outnumber you and StarFleet put together, and we're carrying Trellium dust on every ship. We will transport it to any and all of your ships, need be, Soval. Understand that. We'll dust all your ships if you force our hands."

Soval said nothing, though he paled at that statement.

"I don't like it either, Soval, but I'm not losing any of my ships to yours on the eve of battle with the Gorn. Even the Vulcans in the Bands are willing to go along with it, though they like it even less than I, but we'll not fall to infighting and let the Gorn pick up the scraps. If Sanders blunders, let him, and we'll put him down hard, but don't join him. No Human will blame your people, knowing what we all know about Trellium's effects on Vulcans."

"I understand," said Soval. "How long before the Federation forces reach Delta Vega?"

"Let's see. The Tholians are due here five days from now, the Romulans seven, the Klingons ten, and the Andorians are already drifting in now." said Trip. "Once we're all together, it's a four day trip to Earth. So two weeks total, before the Federation forces reach Earth."

Soval nodded, and said, "And how long before the Gorn reach Earth?"

"Twenty-one days."

"I see," said Soval. "Why not wait for the Gorn here, at Delta Vega?"

"There's nothing to defend here, and I don't want to chance some of them slipping past us to attack Earth or it's colonies," said Trip. "Anyway, I have a plan."

"I hope it's a good one, Captain."

"The best," said Trip. "Now go give Bronte a good-bye kiss, or take her with you. Either way, you leave within the hour on Wind Dancer."

"Yes, Captain."


	23. Chapter 23

— **Chapter 23 —**

* * *

"Hey," said Malcolm, finding Ajan in his Ready Room aboard ch'Tang, even as that ship made its way, along with the rest of the Klingon contingent, for Delta Vega. "What are you doing here?"

"Stop!" said Ajan, holding her hand out. "Come no closer!"

"All right," said Malcolm, eyeing Ajan across his desk, for she'd taken the captain's customary seat.

"I have a surprise for you," said Ajan. "Close your eyes."

"Come on, I'm not falling for that again, Ajan," said Malcolm. "Last time I closed my eyes you rubbed your—"

"No, no, it's not that," said Ajan, "though I'm not sure why you're complaining about it anyway. Now close your eyes, Malcolm. Trust me!"

His heart full of misgivings, Malcolm closed his eyes, and waited as he heard some odd sounds, and Ajan's snicker.

"Open your eyes," said Ajan, a few moments later.

Malcolm did as instructed, and saw what looked to all the world to be a small white piglet sitting atop his desk, though it was a fierce looking little piglet, for he already had two little tusks, all of 1/2 inch or so in length, projecting from its lower jaw, and a row of little spikes about 1/8 of an inch growing along it's back: it was a baby targ, some 5 inches high at the shoulder.

"What is this targ doing here?" said Malcolm. "I know it's lunch time, but if you mean for us to eat this little bastard I'm going to insist he make a pass through the kitchen first."

"No, Malcolm. He is for you. A present. A pet to replace Daniel Radcliff," said Ajan.

Malcolm was speechless. He'd been around Klingons long enough to be aware of the fact that Klingons frequently kept targ as pets, but he was a Human, not a Klingon. Still, a glance at Ajan's face, looking back at him with as much vulnerability as a Klingon could muster, told Malcolm that Ajan thought this little piglet a wonderful gesture - if he rejected this gift now, Ajan would be crushed, though she'd probably try to show no sign of her disappointment.

"Well, he is a handsome fellow," said Malcolm as he approached the targ, and true to the nature of most Klingon wildlife, the targ piglet squared up to Malcolm, ready to resist to the last if Malcolm was a threat. "Has he a name?"

"No," said Ajan, smiling now, pleased that her gift was acceptable. "You must name him!"

Malcolm scooped up the targ piglet, and though it squirmed in his arms and emitted a series of adorable little grunts, it soon calmed down, realizing that Malcolm was no threat to its safety. It really was a cute little bugger!

"Hmmm," said Malcolm, walking about the room with the piglet in his arms. "How about BorrTok?"

"Valiant Heart," said Ajan, considering the name. "I like it, Malcolm. BorrTok is a proper name for your targ."

"Great," said Malcolm. "That's one problem down. Now I'll be cleaning targ droppings from all over the ship."

"Not true," said Ajan. "Targ are quite intelligent, and will naturally use a litter box if one is made available."

"It will have to be a hell of a litter box, once this little fucker grows up," said Malcolm.

"And cleaning that litter box will be a fitting punishment for any that fail in their duties," said Ajan. "Or you could implant him with a ressong tab, which will halt his growth and keep him fixed in size until removed. I have one in my cabin, it came along with the piglet when I purchased your targ, and your doctor could implant it into BorrTok's back fat if you wish, between his shoulder blades. BorrTok won't feel a thing."

"Really?" said Malcolm, truly intrigued now by the idea of owning a targ piglet as a pet.

"Yes," said Ajan. "Among Klingons males, baby targ are usually allowed to grow naturally and eventually eaten or trained as war targs, but in light of your Human sensibilities, I mentioned the ressong implant as a more satisfactory arrangement."

"The implant it is," said Malcolm, hoisting BorrTok to eye level, and smiling as BorrTok squirmed in his grip: he really was a handsome little fellow. "But I'll let him grow another inch or two before the implant - I want him big enough that no one pushes him around. Thank you, Ajan. BorrTok is a wonderful gift."

"Good," said Ajan, quite pleased that she'd struck a proper note with Malcolm. "I'm glad."

* * *

"Trip," said Shran, drawing Trip's eye as the man exited the Vulcan shuttle which had brought him into the Launch Bay of the Andorian Emperor's flagship, for Trip had come to pay his respects to a man who had done a great deal to support the Bands in their earliest days.

Now the flagship, the Junsal Rett, which translated to Silver Hawk, was a hell of a ship, a Kumari class vessel but built three times as large as typical, and instead of being painted ice blue, as the rest of the Andorian Fleet, the Junsal Rett was a beautiful, eye catching, glossy silver that seemed almost liquid in nature.

"Shran," said Trip as he reached that Andorian. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to facilitate your introduction to my master," said Shran.

"I see," said Trip, glancing around the Launch Bay. "Hell of a ship."

"I'll show you around later," said Shran, noting the package which Trip carried strapped across his back. "Once in the Emperor's presence you'll move in a smooth and controlled manner when handling that package, lest one of my master's Guards misunderstand your intent, and put you down."

"Understood," said Trip.

"Come on," said Shran.

And that brief greeting was followed by a short trip through the ship, Imperial Guards visible in copious numbers throughout the ship and Trip smiled at the thought of Gorn transporting onto this ship in an attempt to wreak destruction, for judging by the cold, appraising looks he drew from the heavily armed Guards as he moved through the ship, Trip knew that these Guards evaluated everyone as either friend or foe… and foes would be quickly dispatched.

Soon enough Trip and Shran reached the Emperor's suite, where they were wordlessly admitted inside by one of four Imperial Guards posted at the door, even as two of these Guards followed Shran and Trip inside.

Contrary to expectations, the place was relatively spartan in size, but then this was a ship of war, not the Emperor's pleasure barge… still, though the Emperor's suite was smaller than expected, it was well designed and luxuriously appointed.

Zarre-Tal, seated at a desk, lifted his face as his visitors entered, then moved to approach them, where the Emperor gave Shran a brief nod, then said, "Welcome, Captain Tucker."

"My Lord Emperor," said Trip, his first words to Zarre-Tal the traditional Andorian address for the Emperor.

Zarre-Tal, stretched out his hand, and said, "It is good to meet you, Captain."

Trip reached out and grasped the Emperor's arm in the forearm grip of the Imperial Guards - he'd not expected Zarre-Tal's gesture, but he'd seen Guards perform the gesture, and so he recognized it.

"Come," said Zarre-Tal, gesturing towards a coffee table, and shortly afterwards, Trip and Shran knelt on some cushions across the table from Zarre-Tal. "A drink?"

"Yes, Highness," said Trip.

Zarre-Tal glanced at one of the Guards, spoke a few words, and gestured towards a cabinet with a lift of his chin, and the Guard gave a slight bow from the neck, and then moved in obedience to his master's orders.

"Before we clutter this table with bottles and shot glasses, perhaps I might offer you gift, Highness," said Trip, reaching round to free the parcel on his back, which he soon laid atop the table, midway between he and Zarre-Tal.

He'd moved in a smooth controlled fashion, yet Trip still felt the Guards' keen attention, Shran's included… of course it would have been madness for Tucker to attempt to harm Zarre-Tal, for then the Imperial Guards, aided by the five Andorian Bands would have immediately turned on the Bands, and that would have been a blood bath that would have spelled the end to resistance against the Gorn.

"Gratitude, Captain," said Zarre-Tal. "May I?"

Trip gave a polite nod, and the Emperor began unwrapping Trip's parcel.

"It's hard to find a gift for a man who has everything," said Trip, "but I hope that the novelty of it pleases your Highness."

Zarre-Tal had just untied the layers of silk and linen, and the Andorian's breath stilled.

"I was told your Highness is a skilled swordsman," said Trip, as the Emperor freed a sword of its cloth wrappings and handled it reverently, "and reasoned that his was as good a gift as any."

"You were right, Captain," said Zarre-Tal, handling the long sword with both hands. "It's a beautiful weapon, and this particular design, and the stylistic cues evidenced in the engraving are completely new to me."

"It was given me by the Tholians, Highness," said Trip. "In turn, they got it from a people called the Cardassians."

Zarre-Tal took his eyes off the blade for a moment to glance at Trip, and say, "I have never heard of them."

"Neither have I, Highness."

"Beautiful workmanship," said Zarre-Tal, reluctantly wrapping up the sword once more, and handing it to the Guard which had brought an ice bucket with three bottles of chilled Andorian ale, and three shot glasses, to the table. "Thank you, Captain Tucker."

"You're quite welcome, Highness," said Trip.

And with that, the three men began partaking of some truly wonderful Andorian ale, and Trip sincerely expressed his gratitude to Zarre-Tal for his support of the Bands, and then eventually their talk turned to the Gorn, and the upcoming clash with the reptilian predators in Earth's solar system. They killed hours that way, and when the time came to say good bye, Trip expressed his gratitude once more, and moved to stand.

"Wait," said Zarre-Tal. "You've given me a fine blade, Captain Tucker. Allow me to return the gesture."

And with that, the Andorian Emperor removed the Imperial Guards dagger from his waist and laid it on the table, midway between he and Trip… Now Trip would rather put his faith in a phaser rifle than the long dagger when facing the Gorn, but he understood that Zarre-Tal's gift was symbolic.

He took up Zarre-Tal's dagger and slid two inches of the dagger's blade from its sheath, to glance at the beautifully folded steel which formed a subtle grain pattern quite similar to wood, due to the manner in which the steel had been repeatedly folded: more interesting still, unlike the gray-silver properties of Earth's steels, Andorian steel looked a glossy liquid blue of various hues: it was beautiful workmanship.

"I shall always treasure this blade, Highness," said Trip, and soon after, he and Shran took their leave of the Andorian Emperor.

"Congratulations," said Shran, as he and Trip moved through the ship's passageways.

"For what?"

"That dagger is marked with the Imperial sigil," said Shran. "With that dagger at your side, you can move as you will through Andoria's holdings, always protected, always attended to. It's a gesture of trust on the Emperor's part, as well as an obligation on all Andorians to treat you honorably."

"Ah," said Trip, interested by the idea. "Well, when this is all over, perhaps T'Pol and I will honeymoon on Andoria."

"You jest of course," said Shran, "but you should actually do just that. You'll be treated as well as a member of the Imperial family, and you'd both have a great time."

"Hmmm," said Trip. "I don't hate what I'm hearing, Shran. I'll talk it over with Polly if we live through what's coming. But now, how about a pass through this ship's engine room?"

"Certainly," said Shran.

* * *

That night, as Bronte pressed herself into Soval's side to sleep, as T'Les drank hot Ceylon tea while reading Tek'Xzen's operating manual, as Trip massaged T'Pol's back while raining intermittent kisses on her neck, as Shran shared a late night meal with Alice, and as Phlox prepped Medical for the coming battle, aboard the ch'Tang, Malcolm readied himself to sleep, even as the man was flanked on both sides…

...to his left was Ajan, and the Klingon whimpered in her sleep, as she no doubt dreamed of a glorious battle. To Malcolm's right, lay BorrTok, for the targ had quickly taken to his new master, and had taken exception to being ordered to sleep on the floor. Oh, Malcolm had tried to resist BorrTok's advances, but after a dozen or more attempts at rebuffing the piglet, Malcolm had flown the white flag and allowed BorrTok to sleep with his master, and now, the baby targ snored adorably, as he no doubt dreamed of Klingon truffles, or perhaps the glory of battle, just as Ajan.

* * *

**credit for the mighty BorrTok character goes to RedRiverHog - she campaigned vociferously that Malcolm MUST have a replacement for Daniel Radcliff, as RRH felt Daniel Radcliff's loss quite deeply, as have we all, no doubt.


	24. Chapter 24

— **Chapter 24 —**

* * *

Five days had passed since Trip's meeting with Zarre-Tal, and both the Bands and the Andorian contingent were busy, making last minute preparations for the battle soon to come. One good thing had come via Shran's suggestion though…

Andoria you see, was an icy moon orbiting a gas giant, and the Andorians had long used this gas giant as a place of safety, constructing their shipyards in Andorian orbit, then towing them within the gas giant's sphere, giving valuable assets concealment from the enemy, in both the visual and the energetic spectrum - once, that meant Vulcan eyes and sensors, but now it meant the Gorn, and so Trip asked favor of Zarre-Tal, that he might allow the Bands to make use of the gas giant for the same purposes, for as the Gorn passed Vulcan and Delta Vega, they'd surely nuke any infrastructure which seemed useful to the Bands.

And so soon after receiving the Emperor's permission, a hundred of the Bands' ships began working, towing the Band's small but functional shipyard towards Andoria, along with dozens of Vulcan ships left damaged by the first Gorn attack on Vulcan, ships which were considered salvageable, and thus valuable. That was all a hassle, but those resources were considered valuable enough to make it all a thing worth doing.

The 400 Tholian ships reached Delta Vega in the midst of this move, and the Tholian ships maneuvered about in a seemingly random manner, though the end result of their flight maneuvers, when their ships came to a halt, was a seemingly crystalline golden flower. Now due to the Tholian's unusual physiology personal meetings were impractical, but they spent the first 30 hours in private communication with Captain Tucker, after which, their business apparently concluded, the Tholians fell silent.

A day later, the Romulans arrived, a formidable fleet of some 3,500 ships, for the Romulans had not fought the Gorn yet, and thus they'd not suffered any losses… and these were true ships of war, not a mixture such as in the Bands, of military vessels and upgraded civilian ships taken from the Orions or salvaged from Vulcans, and better still, these Romulan ships had their cloaks, which would surely prove to be a great tactical advantage in the coming days. Best of all, within the tech files supplied by the Romulans upon the formation of the Federation, Trip had seen a Romulan device he thought would come in quite handy in defense of Earth's Sol system, and he'd requested thousands of them.

As with the Andorians, Trip went out of his way to introduce himself to R'Haen, the admiral commanding the Romulan contingent, and now T'Pol insisted on accompanying Trip aboard R'haen's flagship, something she'd not insisted upon even when Trip paid his respects to the Andorian Emperor… what's more, Trip felt his mate's dread through the Bond the whole time, like a splinter in his mind.

Still, despite T'Pol's misgivings, the visit went well enough - R'Haen received them both politely, and in fact the man was quite charming… it was odd though, these Romulans were so different from modern Vulcans. There was something quite mercurial about their moods, even more so than the emotional play commonly seen among Humans, though that did not mean they lacked control. Discipline was evident in the elaborate politeness which channeled conversation in face saving ways, in was evident in the way they held their bodies so still, without extraneous gestures, evident in the way they spoke and conveyed their meaning in such precise detail… there was something of a drawn sword feeling about these Romulans, a poise which was quite palpable, just as T'Pol's relief was palpable when Trip's visit was finally complete and they'd boarded their own shuttle in order to leave the Romulans behind them both, and Trip knew that T'Pol had expected only the worst of this meeting.

* * *

"BorrTok," said Malcolm, and the targ piglet stood in response, alert and ready to obey his master's command. "Let's go."

"You're taking BorrTok with you?" said Ajan, just as Malcolm moved round his desk in order to exit his Ready Room aboard ch'Tang.

The Klingon contingent would reach Delta Vega three days from now, and High Councilor K'mpec had called for a feast aboard his flagship, with a number of the captains and senior officers invited.

"Yes," said Malcolm. "K'mpec has his own targ aboard the Y'Szrek, and he wanted to meet BorrTok. Who can blame him. BorrTok is a Klingon warrior, the youngest in the fleet!"

"Of course," said Ajan, smiling though she knew that Malcolm was trolling her. "Well watch out for him. Klingon feasts are rough and tumble affairs. Make certain no one steps on him, or falls atop him."

"Fear not, he'll be fine," said Malcolm, stealing a kiss from Ajan. "You'll join me later?"

"As soon as my shift is over," said Ajan.

"Good," said Malcolm, and with that he and BorrTok headed for the Launch Bay.

They were quite a sight too, he and BorrTok, judging from the Human crew's reactions, which ranged from Klingon salutes for BorrTok, to outright declarations of admiration.

"BorrTok!" said Evans as Malcolm and BorrTok exited the turbo-lift tube. "The heart of the battle, brother!"

"Hail, BorrTok," said Michelle S. as they passed the Mess Hall.

"Ayahhh! A Klingon warrior walks among us!" said Carol Ulfader.

And the whole time Malcolm walked for the Launch Bay with his head held high, though BorrTok attracted all the attention, garnered all the respect! Curse BorrTok! He was just so damned cute!

Eventually they made the Launch Bay and a shuttle, and soon enough Malcolm and BorrTok reached the Y'Szrek. A number of crewmen waited to meet the arriving officers, and an ensign led Malcolm through the passageways for the location of the feast. Even here, BorrTok drew attention, as the Klingons which crossed paths with the Human and his targ piglet smiled good naturedly, but then, that was not surprising. Few Klingons had grown without a targ piglet in their lives, and those that did were pitied by the rest.

Soon enough, Malcolm and his targ reached K'mpec's feast, and the first surprise was the fearsome black targ chained at the entrance.

"Christ!" thought Malcolm, looking at that freaking beast, a full 40 inches high at the shoulder, a bundle of muscles and spikes, and all that draped in armor which left the spikes on his back, and the single large horn on his forehead uncovered, looking for all the world like a wild boar who'd been purposely designed as a weapon of mayhem.

Well, whatever Malcolm's trepidations at seeing K'mpec's targ, BorrTok felt none of them, and before Malcolm thought to stop him, BorrTok charged the huge targ. The black targ lowered his head and touched noses with BorrTok, and after an endless moment of time, BorrTok grunted, and then swung his tiny head about, in the gesture which a full targ would use to slash at another targ, or predator, after which BorrTok squared up to the black targ, adopting a pugnacious fighting stance. K'mpec's giant targ grunted, and then took a step back from BorrTok.

"Ah, he's a fighter, this little one!" said K'mpec, after which the Klingon laughed. "Itrek has faced death a hundred times or more by my side, and yet even he knows when he's met a foe too fierce to overcome."

Malcolm laughed and whistled, which drew BorrTok to his side, and once there, Malcolm scooped BorrTok in his arms, relieved that K'mpec's targ had not opened that bucket sized mouth to eat BorrTok.

"May I?" said K'mpec.

Malcolm handed BorrTok over to K'mpec, and it was amusing to see the Klingon, a hard faced man tempered by a lifetime of struggle and battle, seemingly forget his office, his age and his status as a warrior, to take joy in the targ piglet in his arms. It was… cute.

"He is a fine targ, Reed," said K'mpec, handing BorrTok back to Malcolm. "Come, let me introduce your to the others here."

* * *

"So tell me," said Trip, looking at Phlox.

"Well, since T'Pol has not mentioned it to you," said Phlox, "medical ethics dictate that I treat this as a personal matter, Captain. I can not discuss it with you."

"Now you listen here, Phlox," said Trip. "We bumped into each other outside SickBay, you said you had good news for T'Pol and I. Now what is it?"

"Captain," said Phlox, "I wish that I could but—"

"Oh, for Christ's sake," said Alice, who'd been following the conversation surreptitiously. "Just tell him, Doctor."

"Doctor Harper," said Phlox.

"You tell me, Alice," said Trip. "It's an order."

"She does not have to obey that order, Captain," said Phlox. "Medical ethi—"

"Oh stop, Doctor," said Alice. "It was just a general inquiry. Captain, T'Pol asked us if it might be possible for a Human and a Vulcan to produce children, and we have determined that a binary cloning technique would be a viable technique to produce a cross species child."

"Really," said Trip, intrigued at the prospect, even as Phlox shot Alice a dark look. "Well thank you for telling me, Alice. See Phlox, that wasn't that hard."

"It wasn't a matter of difficulty, Captain," said Phlox, his feathers figuratively ruffled now.

"Well, thanks anyway," said Trip, and before he'd even left the room, Phlox turned on Alice.

"Doctor Harper, I can not believe you just did that," said Phlox. "In all my days—"

"Doctor Harper," said Trip. "With me."

"Yes, Captain," said Alice, the rebellious wench willingly taking orders in good stride this time.

A moment later they'd made their escape, and Alice looked at Trip, smiling.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," said Trip. "Give Phlox a couple of hours to cool off, and you'll be all right."

* * *

The feast on K'mpec's ship had rolled for two hours now, and as the booze had spread round the room, so had entropy, for a number of fights had taken place, and these were greeted with cheers and wagers rather than Security personnel, and what's more, in the shadows of the large room were a number of Klingons in various stages of sexual play, up to and including copulation, and not always limiting themselves to two parties.

For his part, Malcolm played it low-key, speaking when spoken to, calling out to a few Klingons that he personally knew, reclining on the overstuffed pillows and feeding BorrTok quite brazenly, for the targ piglet had taken his place next to Malcolm. It amused Malcolm to see BorrTok eat, lips smacking, mouth open with each bite, as the targ piglet savored each and every treat from his master's hand. Unfortunately, Malcolm's low-key approach to a Klingon feast was not fated to last…

Malcolm, he'd turned round to speak to a Klingon officer, and by the time that he thought to reach out for BorrTok, the targ piglet was gone. Malcolm was unconcerned, for BorrTok had done this before, made sorties in the room to root around for other foods, as Klingons left their plates behind unattended, or dropped food on the floor, all within the piglet's reach… but as the minutes stretched into a half hour or more, Malcolm grew concerned. In fact, he was just about to start looking for BorrTok, when two Klingons drew close, a tray in their hands.

"Reed," said the first Klingon, "a dish for you to sample."

"Gladly," said Malcolm. "Just give me a few moments to locate my targ."

"No need," said one Klingon, removing the steel dome which covered the metal tray, and setting it aside, all in order to reveal a small roasted targ with a plum in his mouth. "Here he is."

A number of the Klingons gathered about laughed at the gesture, though several had cross words for the two men… not that it mattered. Acting without thought, driven by a cold fury, Malcolm swiftly grabbed hold the steel dome and cracked one of the Klingons a vicious blow, even as his left hand drew his phaser and shot the other Klingon, stunning the man, and dropping him to the ground.

The room erupted in a cheer, though no one had expected this sort of behavior from the slightly built Human, nor had they expected the second slam of the steel dome against the first Klingon's head, though one Klingon jumped in to stop Malcolm. There'd have been no chance at all of stopping Malcolm, for the man was torn between genuine grief over BorrTok's death, and the thought of what Ajan would say… she'd told him to watch out for BorrTok, and she'd be crushed at the way the little piglet had died - save that this third Klingon held BorrTok in his arms, and Malcolm realized this whole thing had been a prank.

Relieved, Malcolm stopped his act of battery and scooped up BorrTok, relieved to find that the targ was fine… more than fine, as a matter of fact, for these Klingons had apparently smuggled BorrTok down to Engineering, where they quickly rigged a suit of armor for him, no doubt as part of the prank. It looked good too, a chain mail hauberk covering the targ's torso, a little bronze cup which fastened to the hauberk and protected BorrTok's testicles, and a spiked collar. Quite fierce looking, the armor, and now Malcolm felt bad. These Klingons were just having fun.

Setting BorrTok down, Malcolm went to help the Klingon he'd clocked twice, and the man was bleeding from the side of his head, even as the man was tended to by a medic - and it said a lot, that Klingon feasts had medics on standby.

"Brother," said Malcolm, glancing at the Klingon, "I apologize for my temper. BorrTok was a gift, and I thought th—"

"Forget it, Reed," said the Klingon. "All part of the prank, but this time the joke was on Ulat and I."

"Thank you for understanding," said Malcolm.

"Korron," said the Klingon stretching out his hand.

Malcolm grasped the Klingon's forearm, and said, "I owe you one, Korron."

"You can lift a pint with me later in the night, once this medic finishes his task," said Korron.

"Gladly," said Malcolm, and with that he left Korron and the medic to their diversion.

Interestingly enough, as Malcolm moved through the room, Klingons slapped his back or gave him nods of approval, for the Klingons which had witnessed Malcolm's attack had been surprised by the Human's viciousness, as well as his unexpected ability to explode into coordinated action - it was a combination any Klingon would admire, and though Malcolm had always been treated respectfully due to his service to the empire, now the respect had something personal mingled with it, for Malcolm had just placed them all on notice that despite their size differential, a trespass against this Human would be answered with violence and blood, and that was something any Klingon could understand.

Things should have gone well from there, but as Malcolm reclined on a low couch in one corner of the room, a fetching Klingon female joined him on the couch, the woman's breasts barely contained within her leather jerkin.

"Hello," said Malcolm, quickly thrusting BorrTok between him and the Klingon.

"Hello," said the Klingon drawing close to Malcolm, while BorrTok looked round him, confused. "I am BerNa."

"Hello, BerNa," said Malcolm, a bit wary, for Klingon females were many things, but not shy, and BerNa's right hand already rested on his chest. "I'll give you the couch."

"No!" said BerNa. "If you leave now, Reed, I'll take it as a personal insult!"

Oh, God, thought Reed, for Klingon females could be a bigger pain in the ass than the males.

"I found your attack on behalf of your little pet… exciting, Reed," said BerNa.

"That's good," said Malcolm, "You know, BerNa, I'm kind of involv—"

That's all he said, that's all he could have said, for BerNa leaned forward just then, and locked lips with Malcolm, even as her hand cupped his junk. She was a good kisser too, her breath sweet, her tongue lively, and her full breasts pressed delightfully against his chest, even as her hand worked it's way inside his pants, despite Malcolm's indignant murmur — and just then BerNa screamed, as her head was viciously jerked back, and Malcolm looked up, white faced, as a furious Ajan twisted BerNa's hair.

She spared a glance for Malcolm though, and said, "I'll deal with you later!"

And then Ajan dragged BerNa from her lover's side and to the floor, where she kicked that lascivious wench several times. BerNa screamed in outrage, but her initial disadvantage was hard to overcome… they scrapped for a bit, while the Klingons cheered, and what's more, when Ajan landed front kick which brought BerNa to her knees, even Malcolm cheered, and when Ajan dropped BerNa with a right hook Malcolm screamed his admiration, even as he put a stop to the fight.

Ajan fought his hold like a wildcat, not yet done with BerNa, but Malcolm fixed her with 'the Look' and Ajan stilled herself, though she still fumed… and with a last glance towards Ajan, Malcolm helped BerNa up and back onto the couch from which she'd just recently been dragged, and BerNa gave Malcolm a tight nod.

"BerNa," said Malcolm, "you're a beautiful woman, and if I wasn't already involved I'd be all over you. But I am. However, I can introduce you to a Human much better looking than I. The ladies love him. What do you say?"

"He is truly attractive?" said BerNa.

"Yeah, he's gorgeous. So?"

"Very well," said BerNa, and at that Malcolm smiled, and keyed his comm unit.

The ch'Tang's Comm officer answered the captain's hail in short order, and said, "Yes, Captain?"

"Send me Danny Mac."

* * *

"Oh Christ," said Danny Mac some six hours later, "that was marvelous. I'm in love, you know?"

BerNa grinned a wicked grin, that looked quite charming with the black eye Ajan had given her, even as her hands worked Danny Mac, eager to coax a sixth erection from the man this night. "As well you should be, Human."

It was true. She'd done some sensual things with the man, some filthy things, some degrading things… sooo degrading: and yet it had all been wonderfully intoxicating!

"I owe Malcolm big for this one, BerNa, for putting us together," said Danny Mac, as he moved between BerNa's legs, truly burying his grudge against Malcolm now… Daniel Radcliff was gone - let him rest in peace. "I love him like a brother now."

BerNa gasped as Danny Mac entered her roughly, and the Klingon said, "I think I do too, Danny."

* * *

**credit for BorrTok's scene in this chapter goes to RedRiverHog - when I had nothing for BorrTok in this chapter, and told her so, she channeled him for my benefit, giving him a proper scene and the honor due a Klingon warrior!


	25. Chapter 25

— **Chapter 25 —**

* * *

The night of the feast was a nightmare for Malcolm, as Ajan refused to let go of the scene she'd walked in on earlier, with BerNa atop Malcolm.

"What was BerNa doing on top of you, Malcolm? I want to know!"

"She jumped me."

"Really? Is that why her hand was in your pants?"

"Yes."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"Believe what you want," said Malcolm. "It's the truth."

And so it went, on and on, until Malcolm had enough of it, and said, "Listen, I did nothing wrong. You don't believe me, fine. Go to your cabin, get some sleep, and give me some peace and quiet."

"A dozen men couldn't drag me out of your cabin right now!" said Ajan.

"No, really. You can scream at me some more tomorrow. Go."

"Leave? I'd rather die!" said Ajan. "Now tell me what you were doing with BerNa, Malcolm! Tell me!"

And that was that, he'd had enough, so Malcolm stretched out on his bunk and cuddled BorrTok, then closed his eyes. Of course Ajan knew he wasn't asleep, there was no way the man could fall asleep that quickly, and so she kept the questions coming until eventually, without any input from Malcolm she wound down. In the morning, they woke, and Ajan was still in a foul mood, giving Malcolm the silent treatment as they dressed for their shift, and for his part, Malcolm had no inclination to make up when he'd done nothing wrong as he saw it.

Thankfully, the day was largely a routine with the Klingon fleet still one day's flight from Delta Vega, and at the end of it all Malcolm got another invitation to K'mpec's table. Frankly, this night Malcolm welcomed the diversion, though he left BorrTok on ch'Tang for the Klingon prank of the previous night had spooked Malcolm where BorrTok was concerned... and so it was that at 1900 hours, Malcolm made way for the turbo-lift, which would take him to ch'Tang's Launch Bay.

Like a ghost, Ajan materialized next to Malcolm at the lift, looking quite fetching in a mid-thigh length leather tunic which might have been called a dress, save for the fact that it included chain and thin steel plates as decoration, and thus, looked decidedly unlike a dress so far as Malcolm was concerned. Still, it was a fetching item, and the heels Ajan had chosen to wear this night only accented what were surely a pair of the finest legs in the Klingon Empire.

"And where do you think you're going?" said Malcolm.

"To the feast."

"You're on duty," said Malcolm.

"K'mpec rendered his invitation personally. I could not refuse."

"Mmmm," said Malcolm, knowing for a fact that Ajan was lying, but he left it at that.

And now Ajan studied Malcolm from the corner of her eye without being obvious about it, and Malcolm, sensing the Klingon's attention, sighed, hoping there'd be no scenes from her tonight.

* * *

"Captain," said Tek'Xzen's Comm officer, reaching out to Trip in his Ready Room, "I have a comm stream from The Breed. It's Mosby."

"Put it through," said Trip, for John Mosby wasn't just a friend, but also commander of The Breed.

"Trip," said Mosby a moment later. "How are you?"

"Ugh," said Trip. "Forget about it. You don't want to know. What's up?"

"I heard the Vagos passed you a comm stream from Earth, something from Sanders," said Mosby, naming EarthGov's president. "You gonna tell us what's in it?"

"Yeah," said Trip. "You know I warned Sanders of the Gorn armada, and told him the Federation fleet will be in Sol's system soon, to defend Earth and its colonies. He ordered us to stay away. He wants to negotiate with the Gorn."

"Oh, yeah?" said Mosby, smiling now, because Sanders was a dumbass: the Gorn were never interested in negotiation. "What did you tell him?"

"Not a damned thing," said Trip. "I can't reason with a moron."

"So what are we gonna do?"

"We're gonna roll in there, and do what we got to do, John," said Trip. "Sanders can suck it."

"I hear that," said Mosby, laughing at Trip's directness - the man would never be a politician, which was a good thing.

Just then, T'Pol walked in the Ready Room, and Trip said, "John, I've got to go. We'll talk later."

"Oh, aye," said Mosby, more than satisfied with Trip's answer. "Give T'Pol a kiss for me."

"Will do," said Trip.

* * *

Soval waited patiently for the next set of questions, though he'd already fielded more than a hundred questions from the Vulcan High Command about his time with the Bands on Delta Vega and the formation of the Federation. Not that Soval felt impatience, for the High Command had truly been placed on the horns of a dilemma… logic dictated the High Command support Sanders, for the Vulcans had nowhere to go, and yet if the Gorn succeeded in their attack, the Vulcan species would soon die out, along with the Human species. But the High Command had no more questions…

"We wish to speak in private in order to come to a decision, Soval," said Administrator Velok, member of the High Command. "Please take this opportunity to refresh yourself in the sitting room across the hall. We will call you when we have reached a decision."

"Of course, Administrator," said Soval.

Moments later, Soval entered the sitting room and made way for Bronte, for she'd come here as well, to Vulcan's Embassy in San Francisco in case the High Command wished to question her as well.

"Ambassador," said Bronte, for she and Soval were not alone in the room. "You are finished here?"

"Not yet," said Soval, taking a seat next to Bronte. "A bit longer. I apologize."

"It is no trouble, Ambassador," said Bronte.

The two waited patiently, and Soval was surprised how 'properly' Bronte had acted the entire time they'd been here… she'd not indulged in any idle chatter, she'd not touched him in front of others, she'd not mentioned their intimate relationship when asked her business at the embassy, all things for which Soval would not have had the heart to chastise Bronte, yet all things which were best avoided here, for Vulcan protocol dictated a focused and impersonal mien while handling serious business, and none was more serious than the approach of the Gorn.

"Perhaps its not that surprising she understands our ways," thought Soval, for Bronte had worked with Vulcans the past three years, since she and her sister had come to Delta Vega.

He glanced at Bronte just then, and the woman gave Soval a slight smile, and then allowed him the silence and privacy to collect his thoughts. A half hour later Soval was recalled to the High Command's chamber, where the ambassador was given his orders.

"You will take a shuttle to Tek'Xzen when the Federation enters the Sol system, Ambassador," said Administrator Velok, "and you will seek out Captain Tucker. You will inform him that we will stay out of any conflict he has with Sanders, but when the Gorn enter the system, our ships stand ready to join battle against the Gorn. Tell Tucker that our ships will obey his orders, in order that we might best integrate our fleet with the rest of the Federation forces."

"As you say, Administrator Velok," said Soval, and with that the ambassador bowed and left the High Command to its own devices, even as he planned to introduce Bronte to the best Indian restaurant in San Francisco.

* * *

Malcolm was satisfied now… the second night of K'mpec's feast had gone well enough, so far as he was concerned. There's been no drama from Ajan, for she'd occupied herself with girl friends, though she'd kept an eagle eye on him the whole night long lest he misbehave, for apparently it had been his fault that BerNa had molested him the previous night… and speaking of BerNa, she and Danny Mac had just made an appearance to the party.

"Those two deviant sods deserve each other," thought Malcolm, surprised that Danny had taken to BerNa so quickly. "The hell with them."

So Malcolm sipped his drink, satisfied that no one had challenged him to a fight though there had been a half dozen scraps so far. Fortunately, rank meant something in these impromptu skirmishes, and thus only another captain could challenge a captain, which improved Malcolm's odds of avoiding a fight quite handily. He took another sip of his drink, getting pleasantly buzzed off some type of liquor which the Klingons purchased from the Orions - God knows how the Orions came by it, but it was a pleasant alcohol, vaguely lilac scented, and quite strong.

Just then Ajan came up to Malcolm and plopped herself in the overstuffed beanbag in which he'd made himself comfortable.

"Hey," said Ajan.

"Hi," said Malcolm.

"Give me a sip," said Ajan, reaching for Malcolm's glass.

"No."

"Give it to me!" said Ajan. "I want some!"

"One sip," said Malcolm, passing his glass to Ajan.

"It's good," said Ajan, passing the glass back. "Very good."

"Mmmm, hmmm," said Malcolm.

And then Ajan laid next to Malcolm, and began running her hands over him, even as she nibbled on his ear, kissed his neck.

"You want to go back to ch'Tang?" said Malcolm. "Is that it?"

"No, I'm comfy here," said Ajan.

Her hands got friskier though, and when she slipped her hands down Malcolm's pants, the man said, "Hey now! What the hell you think you're doing!"

"Put aside your Human frailties, Malcolm and let's do this now," said Ajan, a hungry look in her eyes.

"You're insane," said Malcolm, "and I'm insane because I'm with you!"

And yet, as outraged as the man could be, his body disagreed - he was rock hard in Ajan's silky grip, and as the Klingon gently tugged, her eyes locked onto Malcolm's, a quirky grin on her face.

"Come on, baby," said Ajan. "Look around."

Malcolm did just that, and noted a number of Klingons in various stages of undress, and play.

"No," said Malcolm, regardless, though admittedly he did not pull away from Ajan.

"Please," said Ajan, and her hand gently squeezed Malcom's cock to accent her words, even as she kissed his throat. "Please, Malcolm."

"No!" said Malcolm, and a moment later Ajan sat astride Malcolm, even as she fiddled with his zipper now… and later, the next day, Malcolm would blame it on the booze, blame it on the night, but the truth was that Ajan just brought out a deviant side of the tight laced Brit: it was undeniable.

He moaned then, as Ajan positioned herself just so, and then lowered herself on the length of Malcolm's cock, groaning in the process, and just then a Klingon male walked by, a perverted grin on his face as he gave Malcolm an approving nod, and Reed couldn't help himself - he laughed aloud, as did Ajan… and then Ajan began grinding atop him with a purpose, and it was at that very moment that Malcolm began his journey from a strait laced British gentleman to a Klingon, where the man cast loose the unpleasant past he'd dragged behind him for longer than he'd care to remember, and became a man who lived for the moment.

* * *

"My people are here, Captain!" said Ke'Zrell from Tactical the next day, as the Klingon fleet warped into the Vulcan system, drawing ever closer to Delta Vega.

"I see, Ke'Zrell," said Trip, from the captain's chair on the Bridge. "You can return to your people at the end of your shift, but have a drink with me before you go."

"If its all the same to you, Captain," said Ke'Zrell, "I would extend my tour with Tek'Xzen until the Gorn are finally beaten. This was my first opportunity to work with your kind, and I'm enjoying myself."

"Sure. Glad to have you, Ke'Zrell," said Trip. "Comm, send greetings to the Klingon fleet, and tell them the rest of the Federation is heartened by their presence."

"Aye, Captain," said the Comm officer.

Trip headed for his Ready Room, and it was there that Comm hailed him.

"I have a comm stream from ch'Tang, Captain," said the Comm officer.

"Put it through," said Trip, facing the desk-mounted video monitor.

A moment later, the screen flickered to life, and Trip saw what he took to be the inside of ch'Tang's Ready Room. Now Trip expected to see Malcolm, for he'd long known that this was Malcolm's new ship, and yet all he saw was the back of a chair… and then, quite dramatically, the chair slowly spun round to reveal Malcolm seated in the captain's chair, holding a white cat in his arms… no, a small pig of all things, as Malcolm stroked the piglet.

"Hello, Trip."

Trip did a slow clap, laughed, and said, "Very dramatic, Malcolm. What the hell is that thing you're holding?"

"A targ piglet," said Malcolm, indignant at Trip's ignorance, "and his name is BorrTok. Disrespect him, and he'll disembowel you in the blink of an eye."

Trip laughed, and said, "Got it. Want to show me your new ship? And your pig."

"Love to," said Malcolm. "Come aboard. And he's a targ!"


	26. Chapter 26

— **Chapter 26 —**

* * *

Now that the participating members of the Federation were assembled at Delta Vega, the time had come to move on to the Sol sytem in preparation for defending Earth. However, a brief delay was imposed upon the fleet by a ceremony, requested by the Klingons. Tucker stood for Humans there, R'Haen for the Romulans, Zarre-Tal for the Andorians, and K'mpec for the Klingons… even Issivik, the Tholian Commander, attended the ceremony in a Tholian EV(Environmental Suit) suit, a pressurized carapace of steel alloy which radiated a noticeable heat despite a measure of insulation, and it was on Delta Vega that each commanding officer swore a personal vow to stand with the others in facing the Gorn.

An hour after the conclusion of that ceremony, the Federation fleet left Vulcan's system for Earth, leaving behind close to fifty thousand people on Delta Vega, the population of Echo One, and these people took to the ground, heading for caves deep within the planet's mantle. These caves were far too deep beneath the surface for Gorn sensors to pick them out from space, yet even if the Gorn landed infantry troops on Echo One to root out any of the Bands left behind, the ground had long since been prepared for such an eventuality.

The caves beneath Echo One were deep and they branched out for three hundred miles or more in every direction through a labyrinth of tunnels so twisted and confusing that only proper mapping over the course of nine months had made sense of them all, and so there was plenty of room to fall back if the Gorn chose to enter the tunnels. What's more, there were numerous hardened places which bristled with crew served weapons, even more numerous places laced with long concealed payloads which might release poison gas, or bring the ceiling down on reptilian heads, or simply kill the Gorn through shrapnel and concussion.

That's not to say that there wasn't a healthy measure of trepidation at the thought of facing the Gorn, but every person here was well armed and disciplined, and what's more, Zarre-Tal, the Andorian Emperor ordered 2,000 Imperial Guards to the caves to stiffen the resistance among the largely civilian force left behind on Delta Vega, if necessary.

* * *

"The Federation fleet is on its way here now, Mr. President," said Admiral Forrest, standing in the Oval Office along with Rear-Admirals Davis and Ryan, all three men stone-faced as Sanders preened for a press conference expected within the hour. "I urge accommodation with this Federation fleet, and cooperation in defense of Earth."

"Forrest," said Sanders, "I gave the Bands their chance to come in from the cold, and they spit in my face! And there'll be no need to defend Earth. The Gorn will deal. That 'intel' package sent by Tucker, with a purported holy mission in which the Gorn attempt to cleanse the universe is nothing but a load of crap to get support for his cause on Earth."

"Mr. President—"

"Forrest, enough," said Sanders. "Listen, the Vulcans meddled into other people's business with the Gorn, as they always have, and the Gorn took exception to that. We haven't done a damned thing to the Gorn. They've got no beef with us."

"My professional opinion is that you're mistaken, Mr. President," said Forrest. "Are you willing to gamble with billions of lives if you're mistaken, Mr. President?"

"I'm not mistaken, Forrest," said Sanders. "These ragtag Bands—"

"These ragtag Bands outnumber my own ships by a factor of three to one, sir," said Forrest. "What's more the technological improvements they've made to their ship—'

"Be that as it may, Admiral," said Sanders, "these Bands are falling back to Earth not to defend it, but to force our hand, to draw the Gorn here in order to make us active participants in their conflict against the Hegemony. That won't happen on my watch. Now, are you ready to carry out your orders?"

"What you're doing is a mistake, Mr. President. A grave mistake. For the last time, I urge you order StarFleet to defend Earth in conjunction with the Federation fleet. Anything else is a mista—"

"Ryan," said Sanders, looking past Forrest to that Rear-Admiral. "Are you ready to carry out my orders?"

"No, sir," said Ryan. "Admiral Forrest is corre—"

"What about you, Davis?"

"I will carry out the lawful orders of my President, sir," said Davis.

Forrest felt nothing but the keenest disappointment at hearing Davis' words, for if all three of them had stood together Sanders may have been swayed from his course, but now…

"Forrest, Ryan, you're dismissed," said Sanders. "Davis will take point here."

"Yes, sir," said Forrest, and moments later Forrest left the Oval Office with Ryan in tow.

* * *

It was four days later that the Federation fleet dropped out of high warp at Eris, the once mysterious Planet X whose orbit lay beyond that of Pluto, discovered in January 2005 by a Palomar Observatory-based team led by Mike Brown, and from there, the fleet headed directly for Earth at Warp 1, giving the aliens in the Federation fleet a chance to scan the system and build detailed maps, in case they'd have to fight in this particular region soon.

An hour later, in passing Pluto's moon, Charon, the Bands spotted a small mining outpost of a few hundred people, and three Vagos ships dropped behind to offer the miners a lift off that ball of rock and ice, lest they be discovered by the Gorn. Two and a half hours later the armada passed Neptune, and 40 Tholian ships fell back assuming orbit round Neptune's colonized moon of Triton, and the process was repeated when the armada passed Saturn's moon Titan, then once more when the armada passed Jupiter and 160 Tholians fell back to assume orbit round Jupiter's moons of Io, Europa, Ganymed and Callisto. The armada eventually passed Mars and 40 more Tholians fell back, leaving 160 Tholians still with the Federation armada, and eventually the Federation armada reached Earth… where they were met by close to 700 StarFleet vessels, their shields powered, their weapons hot.

* * *

"Jesus Christ," said Admiral Davis on seeing the Federation armada draw close from the Bridge of his flagship, Dauntless.

Davis' trepidation was understandable, for the Federation fleet numbered some 10,000 ships give or take a few… and as the the Federation ships approached Dauntless, the Imperial Guards and the 5 Andorian Bands, the Romulans, Klingons and Tholians dropped back at Trip's request, leaving the 12 Human and Vulcan Bands to approach the StarFleet formation with their shield powered, their weapons hot.

"Hail Tek'Xzen," said Davis, for the admiral knew that to be Tucker's ship.

A moment later Davis had a view of Tek'Xzen's Bridge with Tucker sitting in the captain's chair, and it irked Davis that this StarFleet deserter commanded a ship grander than his own.

"This is an open transmission, Tucker," said Davis, "for you and the rest of the people you brought with you. EarthGov's president, Sanders, orders you to leave the Sol system. You and your kind are already outlawed here. As for the other species, they may wish to avoid openly antagonizing a government and a people which may one day be a valued ally."

"Who are you?" said Tucker.

Now Tucker's tone irritated Davis, as if he, an admiral, should justify himself to such as this man, but Davis said, "I am Admiral Davis, Tucker, and I'm in charge of th—"

"What happened to Admiral Forrest?"

Davis breathed deeply, suppressing his annoyance at being interrupted by this… this adventurer, and said, "Admiral Forrest has resigned his commission, Tucker. I'm in charge of StarFleet now."

"So long as you're willing to fight the Gorn, Admiral," said Trip, "and so long as you're willing to adopt our plan, you're welcome to titular command of this armada, and credit for our success on Earth."

"President Sanders wishes to hold parley with the Gorn."

"The Gorn won't be here for seven days or so," said Trip. "If Sanders wants to parley with the Gorn, let him take a ship and go meet them outside the Sol system. If he succeeds in his negotiations he'll win his next election in a landslide, and if he fails, the defense of this system does not suffer."

"Your suggestion has merit, Tucker," said Davis, "and I'll suggest it to the President. Hold."

Minutes later Davis' comm stream resumed.

"No good, Tucker," said Davis. "President Sanders says you don't make the rules, and now, for the last time, I'm ordering you to disperse and leave the Sol system."

"Or what?"

"Or we'll attack and drive you off," said Davis. "I know you outnumber us, but I command military vessels, one and all, versus your upgraded merchant ships. StarFleet hasn't been exactly idle the past five years."

"Does Tek'Xzen seem like a merchant ship to you?"

"My computer tells me that there are 1,709 ships in the 12 Bands facing me right now," said Davis. "Of those, 16% are reconditioned Vulcan ships, and they'll be a tough nut to crack. The rest of your ships, not so much. Unless your allies save your ass, and thus declare war on Earth, I think I'll win."

"Well, we're about to find out if you really mean to push the issue," said Trip, "though I'd advise against it, for Earth's sake, Davis."

"Admiral Davis," said Davis.

"Is the President listening to our comm stream?" said Trip.

A moment's delay, then a new voice came on the line, and Sanders said, "I'm here."

"You don't want to do this, Mr. President," said Trip.

"No, you don't want to do this, Tucker," said Sanders, "and I'll remind you that most of you have families on Earth. Shame to see them 'detained' indefinitely, due to your actions. They might be a security risk, you see."

"If we leave Sol system now our families are dead when the Gorn get here," said Trip. "You know we all believe that, so threats against our families mean nothing… and if you make that sort of move, Sanders, you'd better hope that we don't win, or I'll hold you and your family responsible."

"Go fuck yourself, Tucker," said Sanders. "Admiral Davis, you have your orders. Disperse this rabble."

"The President's gone, Tucker," said Davis, though Trip had heard the subtle click as well. "Last chance."

Who knows what might have happened had Tucker truly had a chance to consider things once more, but a hothead on Davis' side which video recordings later proved to be Captain Thomas, commanding the Chimera, ordered a salvo of the ship's phaser cannons fired at Tek'Xzen, even as the Chimera launched a volley of photon torpedoes at the Uhlan flagship.

A half dozen Uhlans returned fire almost immediately and in turn two dozen StarFleet vessels responded to that attack, and so on, until those 12 Bands and StarFleet were violently at each other's throats, and all that within the span of a minute.


	27. Chapter 27

— **Chapter 27 —**

* * *

"For fuck's sake, Hamford," said Captain Terol, commanding the NX-47 named Akagi, "kill that damn ship now!"

As if to accent the captain's words, a series of Gorn weapons salvos cut through Akagi's shields and pierced the ship - and looking at the damage schematic, Terol saw that Medical was gone, that part of the crew, dead. Wonderful… and even better that these Bands had upgraded their ships with alien weapons from the Gorn, shields from the Tholians, etc… as if StarFleet wouldn't have had enough trouble dealing with the Bands anyway.

They were in a middle of a firefight now, and the best vessel class of StarFleet's navy was apparently having trouble with what seemed to be a retrofitted Orion freighter, fat, tubby and definitely pedestrian compared to the sleek NX class vessel, yet this freighter handled more like a falcon than a pig.

"Kill it," said Terol once more.

"I'm trying, sir," said Hamford, Akagi's Tactical officer, "but that ship ain't acting right."

"It's no wonder," said Lt. Chauhan, manning the Science station.

"Explain," said Terol, turning to face his Science officer.

"That ship has been modified extensively, Captain," said Chauhan in a proper English accent, the Indian's delicate brown eyes locking onto Terol's, "and stowage is almost entirely consumed by these modifications. The list is long: backup shield generators, an oversized engine which must have come from a substantially larger ship, combat thrusters to supplement the standard maneuvering thrusters, additional emplacement points for added weapons, enhanced bulkheads, ablative armor. That thing is no longer a freighter, sir."

"Aye," said Tactical, just moments after launching a salvo of photon torpedoes, all of which missed their target and sped off into the void when the freighter turned sharply and flicked away, only to do a lazy loop back in order to face the Akagi directly, and all that by the time Akagi's Helmsman matched the maneuver.

All around the Akagi, StarFleet vessels were pressed hard, for on top of outnumbering the StarFleet vessels, these Band ships were proving tough nuts to crack, and Terol silently cursed that fact - that prick Davis had spoken of surgically cutting the Bands from the air… well from the void, but whatever.

Oh, they were dying occasionally, these Bands ships, but they were dying harder than StarFleet vessels and they weren't going quietly. The battle had begun just fifteen minutes earlier, and yet Admiral Davis was already dead, killed when a crippled mid-weight Bands ship accelerated to high impulse and plowed into Davis' ship, but not before plowing through and taking out two of the six NX ships in front the admiral's flagship, as an additional grisly bonus. These people were insane… What a cluster fuck this whole thing was turning out to be!

Well, with Davis dead, Admiral Ryan on the Shenandoah was next in the chain of command. Maybe he'd do better.

* * *

"Please, I need to see the Princeps Senatus!" said Soval, trying to barge his way into Karl Mulh's office, for Mulh, head of EarthGov's Planetary Senate, was the only man able to stop the bloodshed taking place in orbit, other than Sanders of course. "It's imperative!"

Soval had already tried to leave Earth and board Tek'Xzen before the Federation fleet reached Earth in an attempt to defuse the situation, but StarFleet had not allowed Soval's shuttle to leave Earth's orbit… and so, acting on an impulse, Soval then ordered the shuttle's pilot to land in London, for London was the current location of EarthGov's government - Earth's governing bodies floated from region to region every five years, you see, as a symbol of unity, though of course the high officials generally divided their time between the current capital city and their own countries of origin.

Now Soval had many contacts in EarthGov, but Mulh the only viable option here, for Soval had followed developments from the shuttle, and the Vulcan knew the shooting war had already begun.

"Ambassador, please," said a Senate guard, treating the Vulcan more respectfully than he'd treat the average trespasser. "Calm yourself. Without an appointm—"

"What's going on here?" said Mulh, for he'd been notified of a scuffle outside his offices, and when the man saw Soval, he said, "Officer, release the Ambassador."

"Yes, sir."

"Ambassador, my office is at your disposal," said Mulh.

Moments later the two were seated in the largest room of the Princeps Senatus' suite of offices, and Mulh began speaking.

"I know why you're here, Ambassador," said Mulh. "The entire Senate is gathered down below in the Senate Chambers, and I'm trying to get hold of President Sanders now, but I'm having no luck. That bastard's dodging me."

That made sense, as Soval saw things… Sanders held executive power, but the Senate made the laws and held the purse strings, and so Mulh carried his own brand of power, and if it was a more discreet sort of power, it was only marginally less potent. See, if Mulh's advice was ignored, the man could cripple Sanders for the rest of his presidency so long as he could muster a 70% majority in the Senate… and the sight of Earth's StarFleet being savaged in space might well be enough to give Mulh his majority for quite some time to come, and so Sanders was purposely avoiding Mulh in order to avoid unnecessarily antagonizing the man.

"Call Captain Tucker!" said Soval, acting on instinct. "If Sanders will not listen to reason, perhaps Captain Tucker will pull back!"

* * *

"Damn it!" said Sanders, watching the battle taking place in space from his desk in the Oval office, and witnessing the sight of NX-38, the Falke, being torn apart by the combined weapons fire of three ships. "Damn it!"

Even in his fury there was a grudging respect in Sanders for the maneuver he'd just observed, as the man had been a military air force pilot in his youth, and he understood such tactics… and Sanders watched as all along the line, the Bands' large capital ships pressed StarFleet's vessels back in a stately procession, under a withering hail of weapons fire, even as the smaller Bands ships flew their sorties against StarFleet's formation like bats out of hell, in a seemingly chaotic flight pattern that should have seen them crashing against each other or their adversaries, yet didn't, and Sanders reluctantly admired the piloting skills on display here.

That's how they fight the Gorn, thought Sanders, and if Ryan doesn't turn things round soon, StarFleet's defeat will be a black eye against my presidency, and my political agenda.

"Fight you bastards!" said Sanders, focusing his will on StarFleet's contingent. "Fight!"

* * *

"I have a comm stream for you from Earth, Captain," said Tek'Xzen's Comm officer.

"You're kidding," said Trip. "Now?

"It's the Princeps Senatus, Captain," said Comm, "and Ambassador Soval stands by his side."

Trip nodded, and a small picture in picture opened in the right hand corner of the screen, which revealed Soval and a man which Trip recognized as the head of EarthGov's Senate.

"Gentlemen?" said Trip, dividing his attention between the battle and the smaller image stream.

"Captain Tucker," said Mulh, "you must end this madness."

"Sanders will not listen, Princeps Senatus," said Trip, "and I won't leave StarFleet at my back while facing the Gorn. I have to beat them. Here. Now. And then maybe Sanders will wake the fuck up."

"No need," said Mulh. "Stop fighting and I'll take the matter to the Senate, Captain Tucker."

"Accomplishing what?" said Trip.

"Rule 154.77 of our Planetary Constitution allows the Senate to appoint a Minister, at need, to handle a portion of EarthGov's affairs, during a crisis situation," said Mulh.

Even as Mulh had begun speaking, T'Pol pulled up an electronic version of the Planetary Constitution, scanned it quickly and then looked at her mate. She nodded curtly.

"The point, Princeps Senatus?" said Trip.

"Let the Senate vote and appoint you Special Minister of planetary defense so long as we stand in danger from the Gorn," said Mulh. "I'll get the vote."

"What about Sanders?"

"He remains President, I can't change that," said Mulh, "but in that one area of government, planetary defense and any aspect of government which touches on planetary defense, you will speak with the Senate's authority. I'll deal with Sanders if he tries to infringe upon your mandate."

"Word it just like that, Princeps Senatus, and we have a deal," said Trip. "My appointment remains in force until the danger from the Hegemony is past. I won't jockey over this issue, with Sanders constantly nipping at my heels. Go now. Until my appointment is confirmed, we keep going."

Mulh wanted to debate the propriety of Tucker's request, but men were killing and dying above his head, and it so happened that Mulh also considered the Gorn a mortal threat to Earth, and so the Princeps Senatus moved quickly, to make a proposal to the Senate at large, and to take a vote on that particular resolution.

* * *

"Who the hell are you?" said Sanders as a man unexpectedly walked into the Oval office, and the president looked at the member of his security detail who'd given this man access. "Michaels, get this man the hell out of here. Now."

"Just give him a moment of your time, Mr. President," said Michaels, compromising the president for his own reasons.

Sanders was about to call for more security officers to throw this stranger out of his office, but the man arrogantly seated himself across from Sanders without invitation, after which he tossed an envelope on the president's desk and said, "Open it, Sanders."

More bewildered now than angry, Sanders reached for the envelope, even as his attention was torn between the ongoing battle and this presumptuous man.

"The Senate is voting at this moment on a resolution to appoint Tucker a Special Minister in charge of planetary defense," said the uninvited visitor, "and its gonna go through. When it does, you're going to stay out of Tucker's way."

"Am I now?" said Sanders, tearing his way through the envelope, and silently cursing himself for not taking Muhl's call earlier: had he known of that Senate vote, he might have been able to abort that whole matter by making some concessions to the Princeps Senatus, but now… "You sure of that?"

"Quite sure," said the stranger, smiling blatantly as Sanders' face suddenly dropped.

"Where— where did you get these?" said Sanders, his hands shaking as he studied the photos in his hands.

"I have videos as well, Sanders," said the stranger. "Now me, I don't know, but I think that if the public were to receive proof of your dalliance with a dozen or so under-aged ladyboy prostitutes in Bangkok, well, I can't imagine that would help your political career. You value that career, you'll stay out of Tucker's way, you understand?"

Sanders merely nodded, still shocked. He'd made two trips to Thailand while still a Senator, and he'd… indulged. But how did this man—.

"Who are you?" said Sanders, dazed by the sudden turn of events.

"My name's Harris," said the stranger on his way out the Oval office, followed from the room by Michaels.

* * *

And so it went, and unexpectedly so for the majority of the people on Earth which were riveted to their video screens during the battle between StarFleet and the Bands... but then, in one moment the two sides were tearing each other apart, and in the next, weapons fire stopped and the intermingled ships broke contact and maneuvered back to their own lines, even as a special announcement was broadcast planet wide which made it clear that Captain Tucker had been appointed Special Minister whose portfolio was planetary defense, and all that done legally by an overwhelming vote taken by the Planetary Senate…

…and just like that, political difficulties which had been considered intractable just hours earlier were smoothed out with a single vote, especially when Sanders promptly followed that announcement with one of his own, in which the president stated his respect for the Senate's vote, and his intent to cooperate with the newly appointed Special Minister.

The price for this entire fiasco was a few less than a hundred StarFleet vessels, visibly damaged, and some thirty-six destroyed outright, and yet despite this fact, the feeling of relief was palpable in the crowds on Earth, for few had believed that the Hegemony's approach would have been turned away with words as easily as Sanders pretended... as for the politicians, they fell in line with the sudden changes with much less fuss over the matter than the general population, which at least mourned the unnecessary loss of life, but then politicians had always been the most cynical of people.


	28. Chapter 28

— **Chapter 28 —**

* * *

Three days had passed since StarFleet and Bands vessels had warred in Sol system in order to settle the issues between them, and it was now that the Hegemony's armada entered Vulcan space… what thoughts, if any, occurred to the Gorn as they passed a planet now devoid of its people due to their actions can only be surmised, but the fact remains that the Gorn passed Vulcan by without pause.

Delta Vega caught their attention though, even in passing, for although the armada maintained its speed and heading for Sol system, a huge troop transport ship, fifty decks high, dropped out of warp and assumed orbit round Delta Vega… that metal leviathan was joined by three combat cruisers, there to protect the transport, for although sensors said this system was devoid of enemy ships, there were ways to spoof sensors by hiding in the shadows of various celestial bodies, and then of course The Breed and the Uhlans had that damned ceramic coating which defied Gorn scans by, and large and forced them to rely on optical scans.

Still, after two hours time and a thorough sensor scan of the planet, the Gorn determined that Echo One was the only site of interest on Delta Vega, and soon after, six shuttles departed the transport mother ship to land at Echo One, for the Gorn had long suspected that the Bands were based hereabouts, either in the Vulcan system, or the nearby Andorian system, and now they meant to find out.

* * *

And just about the time that the Gorn scouts landed on Delta Vega, the newly minted Minister Tucker held his first press conference on Earth, just after being sworn in by the Princeps Senatus, on the floor of the Senate Chambers. This whole circus was something Trip could have done without, but the ritual had symbolic value, and symbols were sometimes important. So here he was…

"Yes," said Trip, looking at an older man who'd caught his eye.

"Miles Davel, with The Telegraph," said the man. "Minister Tucker, would you care to share your plans to defend the Sol system with our readers?"

"No," said Trip.

"May I ask why?" said Davel.

"Those plans are on a need to know basis," said Trip.

A comely blond caught Trip's eye next, and the man gave the reporter a slight nod.

"Haley Ann Drake, with the Financial Times, Minister Tucker," said the reporter. "You've just been sworn in, Minister, but I see that your actions and your motives are already being questioned in the media. Your response?"

"I don't care what you say," said Trip, "so long as you spell my name with a T, not an F."

A few of the reporters found that amusing, but not Drake, who plowed onward.

"Public opinion is an important part of politics," said Drake, "and you're a politician now, Minister Tucker."

"Hopefully not for long," said Trip.

An older female caught Trip's eye next, and the woman said, "Kendra Standish, with the Guardian. Since we're on the topic, how long do you envision that your political career will last, Minister Tucker?

"Until the Gorn are defeated, or StarFleet is ready to assume defense of the Sol system on its own account."

"That could take years, Minister Tucker," said Standish.

"It could," said Trip, "but hopefully not. Even as we speak, Romulan scouts, working with The Breed's scouts, are doing constant recon missions in Hegemony space. After we beat this armada back, we hope to go for the Hegemony's jugular, and wipe out their remaining tech base, driving them back into their version of the Stone Age, and thus rendering them impotent until the next passage of Nemesis."

And so it went for the next hour, before Trip called an end to it all, and made way for his shuttle, T'Pol by his side, as well as Malcolm. He'd wanted to come here alone, Trip had, but both T'Pol and Malcolm had insisted on accompanying him here… they both seemed quite wary too, even now, and Trip wrote it off as nerves over finding themselves in the midst of undisciplined civilians.

Still, better than bringing Ke'Zrell, for the Klingon had loudly insisted on accompanying Trip as well, and had not desisted in his demands until Malcolm and T'Pol had a private word with the Klingon… God knows what they told the Klingon, but Ke'Zrell was mollified, and agreed to remain on Tek'Xzen.

* * *

TressKan, leader of the Gorn scouts on Delta Vega, now stood before a rocky outcropping some three miles to the East of Echo One. His scouts had passed through Echo One and found nothing of much interest there… what interested them all though, was the scent trail leading out of Echo One, and to the East.

See, the filth which had until recently occupied this primitive city had done a good job of concealing visual signs of their passage out of there, but 50,000 Humans, Vulcans and other alien species passing over that same ground left more than enough minute debris to mark their passage to the Gorn's sensitive olfactory sense: oils and solvents on the bottom of their shoes, organic matter such as spit and mucus, cigarette butts, chewing gums and such things.

Lasrran's scent sang with eagerness, and as TressKan's personal retainer as well as his lieutenant, Lasrran had the freedom to address his commander without pressing need.

Lassran growled a beastial noise with an odd sing-song quality to it: "I trust we hunt these hairless monkeys down into their holes, Commander?"

TressKan's growl was quite direct: "We do."

* * *

Trip, Malcolm and T'Pol had finally broken free of both the Senate's guards and the reporters with their camera crews, and they moved for the freight elevator which would take them to the roof top, and their shuttle... just as well, for Trip was exhausted after a long day, but Malcolm and T'Pol seemed fine, both looking about them as if they were fascinated by this relatively dull part of the Senate Chambers building…

Whatever, thought Trip.

A chime sounded and the lift door slid aside, Malcolm rudely pushing past Trip to be the first in the elevator… only to freeze, briefly, then curse softly.

"Not you, damn you," said Malcolm. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Hello, Malcolm," said Harris.

"We'll take the next lift," said Malcolm, and Harris laughed.

"Oh, come on, Malcolm," said Harris. "We're old friends. Besides I'm here to speak with Minister Tucker, not you."

Trip had watched all this quietly, but now Harris turned to Trip, and smiled.

"Join me, Minister Tucker," said Harris. "Please."

Trip moved past Malcolm and into the lift, after which Malcolm and T'Pol followed Trip's lead, and Malcolm put the lift in motion for the roof, looking at Harris with a disgruntled look on his face, while T'Pol merely watched the stranger like a Vulcan hawk.

"I take it you and Malcolm know each other?" said Trip.

"In a matter of speaking, Minister," said Harris. "Malcolm used to work for me. He was one of my best, until he quit to join StarFleet."

"You don't say. You know, he's always been quite secretive about his past," said Trip, grinning at Malcolm. "I don't suppose you'd care to enlighten us all about Lt. Reeds's shady past?"

"I would not," said Harris. "Anyway, I'm not here to talk about Lt. Reed. I'm here to introduce myself. I'm Harris, and I'm at your service, Minister Tucker."

"And why is that?" said Trip.

"Your goal is to save the Sol system from the Gorn," said Harris. "That's reason enough, Minister."

"I suppose," said Trip. "What sort of services are you offering, Harris?

"Information, for a start," said Harris. "Protection if necessary."

"Protection," said Trip. "From whom?"

"Who knows, Minister. The world is a dangerous place," said Harris, "and your associates seem to know that, even if you do not. Or haven't you noticed how vigilant Malcolm and this large breasted Vulcan beauty have been the whole time you've been on Earth."

T'Pol merely raised brow at Harris' comment, while Malcolm ignored it, but Trip snickered even as he put everything together, only to realize that Harris was right - Malcolm and T'Pol had acted more like bodyguards than shipmates the entire night, looking back on it. Even now, T'Pol stood closer to Harris than her own mate, and though she was not directly blocking Harris, she did indeed seem ready to act, practically on the tips of her toes.

"Glad for any assistance you have to offer, Harris," said Trip, just as the lift reached the rooftop. "Good to meet you."

The lift door opened, but Harris spoke before Trip stepped out of the lift.

"Take this," said Harris, holding out a comm unit. "It's untraceable. I can always get a hold of you, but with this, you can get a hold of me when you need me."

T'Pol took the comm unit from Harris' hand, and looked at Malcolm.

"It's neither a weapon nor a bug, Commander," said Malcolm, looking at T'Pol. "Harris is a prick, and he'll try to sink his hooks into Minister Tucker if he can, but fortunately for us all, the Minister's goals align with Harris' goals. For now."

T'Pol passed the comm unit to her mate, and Trip pocketed the unit, then said, "Much obliged, Harris."

Minutes later, as the shuttle lifted off the roof, on course for Tek'Xzen, Malcolm looked at Trip, and said, "I'll counsel you to avoid Harris, but if you're really in trouble, he can deliver. Use him only as a last resort though, you understand?"

"Yeah."

"Hey," said Malcolm, fixing Trip with a stern look. "I'm serious. You don't want to owe that bastard anything if you can help it."

Trip nodded, silently wondering exactly that Malcolm had done for this Harris, in his past…

* * *

Once TressKan, the scouts leader, had notified the Priest-King on the transport of their discovery, of the thousands of warm-blooded kwiska, rightful prey, hiding beneath Delta Vega's crust, a wondrous thing happened, for unlike the three combat cruisers, the troop transport was capable of atmospheric flight and entry, and without delay, the giant ship began a rapid descent to Delta Vega's surface, even as the descent through the atmosphere created a wondrous fireball to the heat sensitive sight of the Gorn scouts…

...that fireball coming from on high, announced to all that the battle for Delta Vega had in fact just begun, though no shots had yet been fired by either combatant.


	29. Chapter 29

— **Chapter 29 —**

* * *

Back on Tek'Xzen, T'Pol excused herself to check on her mother, while Trip headed for Mess Hall 2. After a day like today he needed something sweet. This time of night, the place was largely deserted, save for five crewmen playing a game of poker in one corner of the room, and Alice gazing into her coffee at the other end of the Mess Hall, and after a pass through the line Trip joined the doctor, a cup of coffee in one hand, a plate full of mochi in the other.

"Hey," said Trip, as he sat down. "What are you moping around for, Alice?"

"You're about to kill us all you daft fool," said Alice, "so I think that gives me the right to pout about the matter."

"Here," said Trip, sliding the plate of mochi to the middle of the table. "Eat something sweet. You'll feel better."

"Mmmm," said Alice, a moment after biting into the sweet. "It's good. What is it?"

"Mochi."

"No, I know that, but what flavor?"

"The translucent-white half of it is lychee, the yellow is jackfruit. Do you approve?"

"I do," said Alice, after taking a delicate bite from each half of the mochi. "How did things go on Earth? You officially a minister now?"

"Yes," said Trip, "and a target for assassination as well, apparently. So thinks Malcolm, Polly, probably Ke'Zrell, and a dude named Harris I just met this evening."

"Yes, well, we all have to go sometime," said Alice, fatalistically resigned to the idea.

"I suppose," said Trip, "and I'm glad you're taking the idea my assassination so stoically. Now really, what's got you so down tonight, Alice?"

"Are you kidding?" said Alice, snorting at Trip in good hearted derision. "If the Federation screws this up, the Sol system is toast. I think that's reason enough to be down, no? Two entire species, Human and Vulcan going down in flames."

"We won't screw it up," said Trip.

"I've got family down there, you know?" said Alice. "Haven't seen them for years. We're not close, but they're still family."

"Oh, yeah?" said Trip.

"Yeah," said Alice. "Sister, brother, my mom. I've even got three nieces."

"Have you visited them since we got back?"

"No," said Alice, head hanging, the good doctor looking deep in her cup, her left hand clenched into a fist. "Last time I saw them, it was an ugly scene. I don't want to go into it, so leave it at that. Now I'm afraid to go. As fucked up as they are, the adults I mean, if anything happens to them…"

"Afraid or not, go see them anyway," said Trip, placing his hand atop Alice's. "in case Tek'Xzen falls to the Gorn. Do it for your nieces, if no one else."

Alice nodded, and it was thus that T'Pol found them when she stepped into the Mess Hall, but there was no drama here… the Vulcan considered Alice a friend, and beyond reproach on some subjects, and so T'Pol merely joined them both at the doctor's table.

"I have to go," said Trip. "Phlox was expecting me in Medical ten minutes ago."

"He wants to requisition some medical supplies," said Alice.

"I figured," said Trip. "Take the day off tomorrow, Alice. I'll see a shuttle is made available for you."

"Thanks," said Alice, giving Trip a smile, then burying her face in her coffee cup once more.

"Do you want me to leave?" said T'Pol. "Give you privacy?"

Alice looked up, silent for a moment, then said, "No. Come to my quarters. I have something to show you."

* * *

"Ok," said Trip, after taking a look at the long list of items on Phlox's list. "I'll make sure you get what you need, Doctor. I'll deal with it before I turn in for the night."

"Thank you," said Phlox, giving Trip one of his unnaturally wides smiles, at least unnaturally wide were Phlox a Human.

"I'm sorry we've dragged you into all this, Phlox," said Trip. "Denobula is far from Hegemony space, far enough that you shouldn't be out here."

"Nonsense," said Phlox. "With decades to go before the Black Sun falls, the Gorn will reach Denobula if Earth falls. Even if that were not the case, I'm a doctor and I'm needed here."

"You are," said Trip. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Of course," said Phlox, giving Trip a supportive nod. "So what do I call you now? Captain? Minister?"

"Call me anything you want out there," said Trip, reaching out his hand, "but when we're alone, call me Trip."

Phlox grabbed Trip's forearm, and nodded supportively before the minister left the good doctor to his own devices.

* * *

"Harder!" gasped Ajan. "Harder, damn you!"

"Furkana, slah sell tak!" said Malcolm, which roughly translated to something like "Silence, property which is mine to exalt or debase at my pleasure!"

Roughly speaking of course, for the Klingon version was more concise, but for Ajan it carried a delicious and overt declaration that Malcolm saw her as his property - she would have to test him soon, make him jealous, see if he truly meant the words he spoke, or if he'd just dropped honeyed words without truly understanding their meaning.

"Harder!" whispered Ajan, lightheaded now and climaxing like a freight train.

Now in his kinder and gentler days, Malcolm would have held back here, but despite her relatively easy going nature, Ajan was a Klingon through and through, and she liked her sex rough, and frequent, and nasty…

…not that Malcolm objected here and now, and so he tightened the belt looped round Ajan's throat 'till the Klingon struggled for every breath, and even as Ajan struggled to groan aloud, Malcolm drove himself into the Klingon with a vicious harshness, and she as wet as a slip and slide, as hot as the sun… and when the Klingon fiercely climaxed once more, just moments after the previous salvo, her nails dug deeply into Malcolm's back, each and every finger drawing blood, and a groan of his own from Malcolm, as his back carried ten ruby red marks, a gift from his Klingon lover.

And now the tension left Ajan's body with her climax, and Malcolm released his hold on the belt, and the Klingon gasped and gulped greedily for air even as Malcolm still moved within Ajan, and eventually the Klingon began moving sensuously against Malcolm of her own accord, as she kissed his neck, the Klingon eager to bring him off as well, and eventually she did, with a last feverish grind from Malcolm... and basking in the afterglow, the two made small talk until BorrTok joined them on the bed, the targ touching noses with them both.

"He's looking good," said Ajan. "I think he's put on a couple of dakt."

"He has," said Malcolm, converting that Klingon measure to it's Human standard equivalent 1.4 pounds in his head. "And gained a half inch already."

And just then Ajan squealed, for BorrTok, seeing and recognizing a nipple, tried to help himself to some milk, courtesy Ajan, but Klingon breasts were not as tough as a targ's, and BorrTok's milk teeth were sharp as needles.

* * *

Trip had just reached his cabin, when his Comm officer notified the minister that he had a call from Earth.

"You bastard," said Archer, and for once, the newly frocked Commodore Archer wasn't joking around with a good friend.

"Jon," said Trip somberly.

"Good people died because of you, Trip," said Archer. "You knew some of them. Do you want to know their names?"

"No," said Trip. "And StarFleet attacked first."

"And there'd have been no chance of that if you'd stayed away from Sol system," said Archer. "Damn you, Trip! Damn you!"

"Jon, you're no fool. You know what's coming. Would you really have Sol system face that threat without a Federation fleet on hand to assist? Seriously, Jon. The truth."

"No," said Archer, and then the commodore ended the comm stream abruptly, and Trip knew it would be a long time, if ever, before Archer would forgive him.

* * *

"Here we go," said Alice as she entered her cabin. "Come on."

T'Pol did just that, as always her keen senses picking out the scent of the various oil paints which Alice used to create the artworks which were liberally spread about the cabin, for Alice was an inveterate painter.

"This is new," said T'Pol, her eye caught by an adorable nature study of a kaissa, something of a Vulcan llama.

"Oh, yes," said Alice. "I went down to Vulcan with the last medical team, in search of some medicines for your people, and the pharmacy we shopped had a statue of a kaissa outside the store's entrance. I thought it was cute."

"Mmmm," said T'Pol. "You have done a good job of—"

"Ok," said Alice, excited now, for she'd found what she sought. "Close your eyes, T'Pol."

T'Pol obliged, and Alice took a painting she'd laid between her desk and the wall, and placed that painting on an easel which monopolized the room by virtue of it's location, under the best light that room offered.

"Open your eyes, T'Pol," said Alice, looking at T'Pol with a smile. "What do you think?"

T'Pol drew closer to the painting, eyeing it closely… there, on the canvas, T'Pol saw herself, rendered in wonderfully bright colors, dressed in the elegant and diaphanous robes of a temple dancer. The painting was somewhat stylized, for Alice had made T'Pol even more elegant and beautiful than real life, hard as that might be to imagine, but she'd not taken it so far as to be unrealistic.

"It is a beautiful work, Alice," said T'Pol, truthfully. "You are a genius!"

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are," said T'Pol, unwilling to concede the point.

"If you insist. It's not quite finished," said Alice, "but I wanted you to see it in case, you know… the Gorn kill us. I… you… I consider you a friend, T'Pol."

"I feel the same, Alice," said T'Pol, and the Vulcan pressed herself to Alice, and laid a light kiss on the Human's cheek.

The gesture was completely unexpected and quite gratifying, for Vulcans do not generally indulge in physical contact with others, save family and close friends, and Alice knew that for a fact from her time in the Uhlans.

"Look at me," said Alice, misty eyed. "I'm making a fool of myself."

"Nonsense."

"No, it's true," said Alice, dabbing the corners of her eyes. "

"Well, no one is here to witness your foolishness then, and since I'm your friend, I'll never tell," said T'Pol, as cool as a cucumber once again…

…but it was palpable. Something had changed between Alice and T'Pol, and it was something Alice grasped right away - T'Pol had lowered her shields with her since boarding Tek'Xzen, and now she'd done away with them completely… and it was a beautiful thing to witness.


	30. Chapter 30

— **Chapter 30 —**

* * *

Two days had passed since Trip had been sworn in as minister, and this day the entire Federation fleet initially buzzed with excitement, and some trepidation, if truth be told… the cloaked Romulan scouts trailing the Hegemony's armada had sent short-burst encrypted transmissions on a regular basis, and thus everyone knew that the Gorn would enter Sol system at 1900 hours, London time. The time had come to meet the beasts in Sol system, and the Federation fleet was ready, plans long laid in place, their ships now bolstered in defense by StarFleet's vessels, and Vulcan's 300 hundred mammoth battle cruisers…

Among the Federation fleet, the Klingons and Andorians were truly spoiling for the battle soon to come, for both species knew that every ship and Gorn killed here was one less to be sent against their respective empires at a later time, while the Tholians, they'd not moved since they'd originally entered Sol system days ago, spread about the inhabited planets and moons in this star system, but then they had a most meaningful purpose to serve in their assigned stations.

As for the Bands, they held the center of the line, flanked by all the other contingents, and among the Federation fleet a hushed silence eventually came to reign, the silence of professionals waiting for the command which would unleash them at the enemy, to kill or die as the fortunes of war dictated its imperatives to them all.

* * *

"Mr. President, I urge you to reconsider," said President Sanders' Chief-of-Staff, Ben Wu.

"I've made my mind up, Ben," said Sanders. "Just make it happen. Now."

"Yes, Mr. President."

Three hours later Sanders' purpose became clear, when the presidential starship, a blue and white NX class ship crewed by StarFleet personnel serving the president directly, moved slowly and majestically through the lines of battle.

* * *

"Hail Eagle-One," said Tucker from the captain's seat on Tek'Xzen, watching as the president's ship passed by.

Moments later, Sanders' visage appeared on the main Bridge monitor.

"Mr. President, it honors us all, that you lead us into this historic battle," said Trip, in an opening gambit to discover Sanders' intentions.

"I'm not leading you into battle, fool," said Sanders. "I'm going to broker a peace treaty with the Gorn, and save your lives, as well as the entire Sol system."

"Well good luck with that, Mr. President. See you when you get back," said Trip, knowing beyond doubt that Sanders was already dead: a pity about wasting that ship and crew though, when they'd both have been better utilized in the battle to come.

* * *

"Come on, Malcolm," said Ajan. "Hurry, we're late."

"I'm coming, love, I'm coming," said Malcolm. "Why don't you relax?"

"Because when High Councilor K'mpec sends for you, you show up, and you show up on time, Malcolm!" said Ajan, pushing Malcolm into the elevator.

"So what's he want anyway?" said Malcolm. "His lieutenant was vague."

"I have no idea," said Ajan. "He just told me to bring you here personally."

The lift door opened and Ajan pulled on Malcolm's sleeve.

"Stop that!" said Malcolm.

"Here we are," said Ajan a minute later, and she gave Malcolm a once over, adjusting his collar just a touch, and then pushing a wisp off hair off her Human's face. "All right. You look good."

Malcolm gave the Klingon and skeptical look, then pressed the button which would announce their presence to High Councilor K'mpec. Moments later the door opened, and a Klingon gave Malcolm & Ajan a brief nod, then invited them into K'mpec's quarters… and it was no wonder that the High Councilor's quarter's were positively palatial, given his rank. K'mpec was not in sight though, but a half dozen guards were spread about the cabin, all visibly armed.

"I think I'm getting whacked," said Malcolm, looking at Ajan.

"What?" said Ajan, frowning at Malcolm.

"Nothing," said Malcolm, for High Councilor K'mpec entered the room.

Ajan straightened up noticeably in the High Councilor's presence, and Malcolm did so as well, if to a lessor degree. K'mpec was in his sixties now, and if he was no longer at his physical peak, he'd only grown in cunning and insight when it came to the arts of war, and the Klingon positively radiated an air of authority and a forceful command presence which Malcolm recognized, and respected.

"Reed," said K'mpec. "It's good to see you."

"Likewise, Councilor," said Malcolm, and left it at that, leaving it for K'mpec to set the tone of the meeting.

"Time is short," said K'mpec, "and the preparatory work necessary to deal with the Gorn is endless, but some things are important enough that one makes time."

Malcolm nodded in agreement, still waiting for K'mpec to come to the point.

"As you may or may not know, Ajan's father, Khornon, is a trusted friend of mine, a long time comrade in battle," said K'mpec.

"I was aware of that fact, High Councilor," said Malcolm, for he knew that much of Ajan's father, though that Klingon was back in the Klingon Empire now with his three sons, ready to fight the Gorn on that front, while his daughter did her part in this Klingon fleet.

"What you may not know is that news that you've been diddling his daughter has gotten back to Khornon," said K'mpec, "and after questioning me at length about your character, Khornon invokes the rite of Khanshar, appointing me as his proxy in this matter."

"Khanshar?" said Malcolm, still looking at K'mpec though he'd felt Ajan tense when K'mpec had spoken that word.

"It is a father's right, Reed, and it essentially demands you declare your intentions where Ajan is concerned," said K'mpec, and Malcolm felt Ajan's eyes on him. "You must state your intentions openly and declare whether you intend to take Ajan as mate, or not."

Malcolm glanced at Ajan, and the Klingon looked flushed - she'd not expected K'mpec's words, that much was clear, but now she watched Malcolm intently as the Human considered the High Councilor's words.

"My duty lies with the Bands so long as the Gorn are out there, Ajan," said Malcolm, turning now to face Ajan, "and if my captain recalls me, I have to go. You know that."

"I do," said Ajan, "but I will accompany you anywhere your duty takes you, Malcolm… if you choose to stake your claim, I mean."

"We need to talk about things, Ajan," said Malcolm.

"Time's up, Reed," said K'mpec, "and I speak here as Khornon's proxy."

"What happens if I make no decision here?" said Malcolm, eyeing K'mpec.

"I order Ajan off your ship," said K'mpec, "and the two of you are done. Ajan is of high caste, and her duty to her clan will carry the day if you choose to spurn her."

Malcolm looked at Ajan as the Klingon held his gaze, and Malcolm raised his chin a fraction of an inch, and Ajan gave just as slight a nod, an instant later: no hesitation at all as the Klingon gazed in the Human's gray eyes.

I've done more impulsive things, with much less cause, thought Malcolm, but there's something about making such a major decision prior to this battle with the Gorn, something which makes it seem more sensible than would otherwise be the case.

"We'll probably both die in the battle with the Gorn, Ajan," said Malcolm, gazing deeply into the Klingon's beautiful brown eyes. "It will be the shortest marriage ever."

"Which means we can't screw it up," said Ajan with a lop sided grin.

Malcolm snorted his agreement with Ajan.

"I stake my claim, K'mpec," said Malcolm. "I will have Ajan as my mate."

"And I gladly take Reed as my mate," said Ajan.

K'mpec laughed at that, for their mutual agreement sealed the deal, and the High Councilor said, "We will have a proper ceremony when circumstances allow, but in Klingon eyes you two are already mated. See that you honor the other, in all the days of your lives."

And just like that, Malcolm Reed found himself ensnared in the roiling bonds of matrimony with a Klingon wildcat, and though he'd have many tempestuous fights with Ajan in the course of their lifelong marriage, he'd have no regrets at all in the years to come. More interesting still, using the same binary cloning technique which allowed Tucker and T'Pol to procreate, Reed and Ajan eventually had six children, all gray eyed as their father, and those gray eyes, a thing never before seen among the Klingons, would mark the sons and daughters of Reed's line for as long as the Klingon people existed.

* * *

Some eight hours after Sanders had departed Sol system, his ship drew within sensor range of the oncoming Hegemony's armada as the two parties rushed towards each other, with the president there to make his pitch for a negotiated treaty of neutrality between EarthGov and the Gorn Hegemony. Now Sanders truly believed such outcome possible, and believed it best for Earth to boot, and if his actions brought him universal acclaim and an automatic win in the next election, well, so much the better...

...and so Eagle-One came to a halt in the path of the Hegemony's armada, broadcasting an open call that the Gorn should parley with Sanders, in his capacity as the embodiment of EarthGov's Executive Branch. That transmission was clearly received and understood, for hours later the entire Gorn armada came to a halt on a dime, a seemingly endless line of ships to both sides, stacked some eighty ships high... by comparison, Eagle-One looked insignificant.

Moments later, a salvo of Gorn fire sheared off Eagle-One's right nacelle and then the left, and shortly afterwards the Gorn boarded Sanders' ship.

* * *

T'Pol was in Tek'Xzen's Mess Hall 1, seated at a table with her mother, the two sharing a quiet meal together, save the T'Les had not eaten more than two bites, and even now, though she looked steady enough, her hands fidgeted restlessly, twisting and untwisting a plastic straw in various renditions of a pretzel.

"You do not have to be here for what comes, mother," said T'Pol softly. "None of the combat crew expects that from a mathematician. We have already sent some non-essential personnel down to Earth to be with their families, and you should be on the next flight down."

T'Les froze upon hearing that, and said, "Nonsense, T'Pol. Whatever family I have left in this universe rides Tek'Xzen into this battle. I will remain at my post."

T'Pol nodded in understanding, then said, "Oh, I have some news which might interest you, mother."

T'Les gave a slight tilt of her head, and said, "Oh?"

"Doctors Phlox and Harper have tackled a side project on my behalf," said T'Pol, "and they have determined that Trip and I can successfully procreate using a binary cloning technique, and once this battle with the Gorn is over, I intend to mention this possibility to my mate."

T'Les' mouth opened in wonder, though the Vulcan said nothing for a time, then, "Truly?"

"Yes," said T'Pol, and the Vulcan pulled out a PADD unit and showed T'Les an image of a child, projected from a blend of Trip and T'Pol's DNA sequences.

She was a precious looking child, a girl, and if the eyes were not so almond shaped, the brow not as angled, and the ears not quite as long as a Vulcan's ears, the child was still lovely, her features clearly marked with the stamp of both species, nowhere as visibly as the child's bright blue eyes, for there were no blue eyed Vulcans.

T'Les reached out to take the PADD unit from her daughter's hand, her own hand trembling a bit in the process, for she'd long given up the hope of seeing her daughter mated, or a mother, after Vulcan's fall and its effects on T'Pol… and yet her first hope for T'Pol had already come true despite the odds, and now it seemed that the second hope for her daughter might also come true in the future.

"You two will make beautiful babies together, T'Pol," said T'Les, reluctantly handing the PADD unit back to her daughter.

T'Pol gave a very slight smile, pleased that her mother had taken the news so well, then said, "Trip's parents would welcome you on Earth, mother. Again I say, fly down to Earth before the Gorn arrive in Sol system and stay with them."

T'Les shook her head, and said, "No. My daughter and my son are here, and so there's no other place I'd rather be."

* * *

The comm stream beamed from the Gorn armada to Sol system was unencrypted, and thus picked up by the entire Federation fleet, and more, Earth, Luna, Mars, and the rest of the colonies… and the video feed was unbelievably grotesque. It showed that the entire crew of Eagle-One was assembled in a cavernous shuttle bay on a Gorn ship, the Humans huddled together on their knees in the center of the room, and the members of that crew were all about to be unwilling participants in a grisly enterprise meant to unnerve the inhabitants of Sol system through examples of the might, the savagery, and the cruelty of the Gorn.

And here, a Gorn grabbed a Human from the huddled mass and lifted a screaming woman in the air, then brought his snout between the woman's thighs and bit down viciously, tearing through the inside of her thighs, her hips and her buttocks all in one grinding laceration, and after a time of pressing down and tearing, the woman was ripped apart… thankfully, she'd given up her hold on life in the first few seconds of the initial trauma... and then Gorn gulped down his meat in full view of the cameras.

A moment later, a different Gorn drove his clawed hand into a man's torso, forcefully ripping through the man's abdominal muscles, even as the other arm reached inside the cavity and tore the man's ribcage apart even as the Human's blood sprayed the Gorn, and the reptile accompanied that brutal act with a guttural howl which sounded positively demonic. And then it fed.

And next to that blood covered Gorn, another of the reptilians grasped the head of a still living man in his clawed hand as he squeezed, the terrified look in that man's face beyond expression… that terror mercifully ended seconds later, when the Gorn drove his claws through bone, crushing the man's skull. The Gorn then fed upon the man's brain, and then his eyeballs... both of them, a delicacy.

And the camera panned on and on, showing the sequential death of all 85 members of the crew, each death more grisly and depraved than the last, the entire shuttle bay now filled with screams of pain and fear, an abattoir liberally decorated with blood, guts and feces from bowels voided in terror or shock, the smell of death both musky and intoxicating to Gorn senses... and eventually, Sanders was the lone Human survivor, waiting for his time to die.

The man was whitefaced now, most likely in shock as his eyes looked blankly about him, and he made no move to defend himself when Ss'karr, the Priest-King leading this armada, grasped hold of Sanders, broke the man's neck and then bit down through the Human's neck. A moment later, Ss'karr discarded the Human's head, suckling and squeezing the man's body for a minute, draining the man's corpse of its blood. Once finished feeding, Ss'karr threw the president's corpse to his feet, where two common Gorn began tearing that body apart, dividing the meat on which they'd shortly feed in view of the cameras.

Twenty minutes passed as the camera showed the Gorn feeding frenzy in frightening detail, and the last shot of the video was a view of Ss'karr's bloody face in which the reptile almost seemed to grin as he looked directly into the camera, after which the Priest-King gave a low growl, and the comm stream suddenly ended…

Among the Federation fleet such sights were old news, and most had seen such things and worse, many times before. Among the inhabitants of Sol system though, the video was a shocking thing, and that included StarFleet, for although that organization was a quasi-military one, few of its members had seen blood shed before, and none so cruelly spilled as this, and soon an almost unnatural silence seemed to blanket the inhabited planets and moons of Sol system, as all inhabitants fearfully awaited a resolution to the problem posed by the Hegemony's oncoming armada.


	31. Chapter 31

— **Chapter 31 —**

* * *

Now even as Sanders and the crew of Eagle-One met their grisly fate at the hands of the Gorn, other members of that reptilian species prepped for their assault on the extensive cave complex beneath Delta Vega's planetary crust, a place to which the inhabitants of Echo One had retreated in advance of the Gorn arrival.

Now true, the Gorn could have simply detonated a nuke at the mouth of that vast cave complex in order to collapse the tunnels for miles due to the effects of blast overpressure, but the reptiles had no idea how deep or wide the cave complex ranged beneath the ground, and though they'd surely kill many of the hairless monkeys taking shelter to ground with a nuke's detonation, the Gorn would never truly know the number of enemies they'd killed, nor would they bask in the visceral pleasure of the kill… more importantly, such a clinical form of death dealing didn't fit in with a Gorn's mindset when bloodier alternatives existed, especially not when Nemesis, in its Black Sun aspect, practically demanded that the Gorn test themselves against their prey in a pitiless contest for supremacy. And so the mammoth troop carrier which landed on Delta Vega had soon disgorged armed Gorn by the hundreds and eventually by the thousands, for that huge ship carried 32,051 Gorn soldiers, and these Gorn were out for blood, and meat.

And yet even as the Gorn readied for their assault under the eyes of their leaders, other eyes watched as well, from deep beneath the ground…

"They'll be ready to move on us soon," said Zattar - the Andorian Ba'jat in command of the Imperial Guards detachment ordered to bolster the defenses of Delta Vega's colonists - as he watched the video feed transmitted from the surface along hard wire. "I trust your men are ready, General?"

"They are," said Oliver Vendt, a retired U.S. Marine general, currently in command of the Human/Vulcan defensive forces arrayed here. "We've had these plans in place since shortly after settling Delta Vega, and we've held regular drills in preparing for this situation."

"How many men in your defensive force, General Vendt?" said Serlitte, Zattar's lieutenant, and this her first major engagement with the Gorn since joining the Imperial Guards.

"Every single person is armed with an assortment of projectile weapons," said Vendt, "either phased energy or physical projectile, but the core of the resistance will be some 4,300 hundred para-military troops: ex-soldiers, former police officers, etc... Plus your 2,000 Imperial Guards of course, for which I'm greatly appreciative."

Zattar nodded, for that meant they'd see odds of 5 to 1 versus the Gorn, but the Andorian felt no trepidation. That the Gorn would be forced to attack long prepped defensive positions meant they'd take heavy losses, and even if the Gorn won and killed them all in the end, he and the Guards were here in obedience to the Emperor's commands, and a death here would be an honorable death… and that's what truly mattered to the Imperial Guards stationed here.

"So let's crush some lizards," said Zattar, his antennas twitching in anticipation, and Vendt laughed, appreciating the Guard's confidence, for Vendt had heard enough of the Imperial Guards to know that it was not a matter of mere bravado at play here.

* * *

The Hegemony's armada was still six hours from Sol system, according to short-burst encrypted pings from the cloaked Romulans trailing the Gorn, when the Tholian ships which had until now lain silently and seemingly lifelessly in orbit of their assigned stations, suddenly and visibly came to life, as the Tholian ships began weaving a wondrous energetic web, by firing a focused energy beam of emerald green from Tholian ship to Tholian ship, to first create a broad energetic lattice which was almost immediately populated by an even finer energetic web…

See the Tholians had developed a number of applications for their energetic web technology, some useful as offensive weapons, others used in a defensive role, and these green webs were purely defensive, for they could keep any and all weapons fire from penetrating the webs, so long as those webs were not overloaded… and it would take a lot to overload such webs, for a defensive Tholian web not only dispersed the load of the energy weapons across the entire web, but also used a portion of that energy to actually reinforce the web… and as a matter of fact, it was these very webs which had kept the Gorn from totally swamping the Tholians and wiping them out as a species, for by all other measures, the Tholians were no match for the Gorn.

It took an hour for the Tholians to shield most of the various moon colonies spread out within the Sol system: Neptune's moon Triton, Saturn's moon Titan, Jupiter's moons Io, Europa, Ganymede & Callisto, and Earth's moon, Luna. Mars took almost two hours to cover in the Tholian's defensive web, while Earth itself took just over four hours, and in every populated place, the inhabitants looked up with wonder at the energetic web being woven into a shield above their heads, in preparation for the Hegemony's arrival.

The mood was somber too, everywhere, for even the dimmest bulbs understood the price of failure, and life practically stopped that day as people gathered round video monitors to watch the proceedings, no matter where they stood at the time that the Tholian webs were spun.

* * *

"Seventeen minutes until the Gorn enter Sol system, Minister," said Ke'Zrell from the Tactical station on Tek'Xzen's Bridge, hours after the Tholians had begun weaving their webs.

Minister Tucker grunted in acknowledgment even as he punched some last minute instructions into the keypad built into the armrest of the captain's chair.

The Federation fleet waited as a whole in close proximity to Earth, for given the fleet's warp capabilities any place within Sol system was only minutes away, and so there was no need to worry - Tholian shields could hold out for hours, or days, depending upon the number of ships reinforcing the web, so if the Gorn chose to divide their fleet in order to attack multiple targets, the Federation fleet would do the same to defend those same places. But as it turned out, the Gorn were quite familiar with the Tholian web's defensive properties, and so they barreled in directly for Earth, given their overwhelming numerical advantage… once they destroyed the fleet defending Sol system, the planets and off-world colonies would fall, in short order.

* * *

"Phlox!" cried Alice, for the latest salvo of Gorn weaponry had rocked Tek'Xzen strongly, knocking Phlox off his feet even as the Denobulan had been absorbed in the medical procedure he was performing.

"I'm all right," said Phlox, scrambling to his feet.

"Right," said Alice, turning to another sick bed, upon which two orderlies had just strapped a man suffering from plasma burns.

The man screamed even as Alice loaded the hypo-spray with a sedative.

"Easy now," said Alice, even as she sedated the man, and after a second's tension, the man lost consciousness.

"Doctor?" said an orderly.

"Go," said Alice. "I've got this one."

"I'm free," said Phlox, as the orderlies led another crewman into Medical. "Alice?"

"I'm good," said Alice, cutting the singed shirt from the man's torso. "I'm good."

The ship rocked again, a dull boom sounding through every deck, as the battle which had been raging for the past twenty minutes continued unabated.

* * *

The battle, it had begun with the capital ships on both sides bracing their respective lines, trading weapons salvos of such ferocity that only modern shields allowed even these huge ships to survive for long… and flying around and between these leviathans, the smaller, lighter classes of ship, both Federation and Gorn, tore at each other like hawks in a killing frenzy.

Unsurprisingly, as a function of their numerical supremacy, the Hegemony forces slowly pressed the Federation forces into a compact mass, which had both benefits and drawbacks from a tactical viewpoint, but it was all part of the plan, for just as the Federation forces were pressed together, the Gorn also assumed a more compact crescent formation in order to maximize the effects of their weapons salvos…

"Perhaps the Romulans abandoned us, Minister," said Ke'Zrell, from Tek'Xzen's Tactical station. "They should have attacked the Gorn by now. What if they're secretly allied with the Gorn?"

"If the Romulans were allied with the Gorn they'd have turned on us by now, Ke'Zrell, and wiped us out," said Trip. "They're merely biding their time for maximum effect."

"Yes, Minister," said Ke'Zrell, ignoring the dull boom sounding through Tek'Xzen as Gorn weapons salvos struck Vulcan shields. "But they'd best hurry up and strike."

And coincidentally, just as Ke'Zrell had spoken, the 3,500 Romulan ships, cloaked till now, chose that moment to strike, and what a strike it was! Even as the Hegemony armada had positioned itself to best press the Federation fleet, the Romulan forces had taken up position to the rear of the Hegemony's armada… and now they struck!

* * *

Mellnaz, the Priest-King in charge of Delta Vega's conquest felt nothing but a cold anger now, a coldness matched by the temperature on this nasty world, for the reptilian Gorn were not best suited to operate in cold climates… oh, modern uniforms made of heat retaining fibers and built in power packs made cold temps moot, but a reptile's dislike for the cold was an ancient thing.

Worse than the cold was disgusting way these hairless monkeys fought, hiding out in these burrows, relying on subterfuge and technology instead of facing their enemies in open combat, and so honoring them all… no, this scum relied on trickery, and Mellnaz looked forward to killing them all soon enough, the Priest-King's rage enveloping the common Gorn as well, in response to the Priest-King's pheromone emissions.

Yet even as he made this resolution, Mellnaz stepped over the torn bodies of dozens of his soldiers… at the large opening leading into the caves he's lost hundreds when the ceiling partially collapsed atop their heads, and even here, in this smaller hallway, hundreds of steel balls no bigger than an eyeball had been hurled as shrapnel with a deadly efficiency through a number of concealed explosive charges, when some coward down below pressed a button, and sprayed a steel rain through this hallway.

"No matter. This filth will surely run out of room to hide long before I run out of soldiers," thought Mellnaz, and the Priest-King gestured that his soldiers should proceed down into the tunnels.

* * *

As for Ss'karr, the Priest-King leading the Hegemony's armada, well his response to the sudden appearance of the Romulans on the battlefield was admirable… unlike the species opposing the Gorn there was no need for shouted orders and responses in the din of battle, for all Priest-Kings had a tech implant residing within their bony skulls and Ss'karr's orders went out to the rest of the fleet at the speed of thought, and thus there was no confusion amongst the Gorn…

…which is not to say that the Gorn took no damage, for when 3,500 ships of war suddenly unleash massed weapons salvos into your ranks, well the damage will be considerable, and the overwhelming numerical advantage which the Gorn had enjoyed, an advantage numbering some 6,000 ships, all but vanished as a result of this surprise attack, bringing the two fleets to a rough parity of some 10,000 Federation ships, versus just over 11,000 ships for the Gorn.

Still, half the Gorn armada pivoted neatly on Ss'karr's orders, facing their new foes, while the other half still faced their former prey… a lessor combatant would have been panicked here and been overcome, but the Gorn fought doggedly with a daunting ferocity, until, apparently unnerved, the Federation fleet broke formation, and fled from the Gorn at full impulse speed.

"Pursue," growled Ss'karr, though there was not need to vocalize that order, for the Priest-King's tech implant passed the order along the moment Ss'karr intended the thought. And off the Gorn went, in hot pursuit… which led to a fucking disaster for the reptiles.

See, this feigned rout had been planned from the start, and the retreat led through a massive field of cloaked Romulan mines, with only a relatively small number of cleared paths giving safe passage through the mine field, and all these paths meticulously mapped into the Federation fleet's navigational computers days earlier, in order that the ship's computers might safely pilot the Federation ships through clear passageways through the mine field at a speed which few organic Helmsmen could have matched.

Certainly the Gorn did not sense the threat for they'd never dealt with cloaked mines before, and though they recovered quickly, they could not take back that initial rush into the minefield after the Federation fleet, which cost them some 1,800 ships… and now the Federation held a slight numerical advantage, and Ss'karr changed tack.

Almost instantly, the Gorn fleet went to warp, and within seconds the Hegemony's armada took shelter within Jupiter's gaseous mass, a place of concealment, both visually and energetically, a place where the Gorn could regroup, and if the Gorn were hampered by the conditions within Jupiter's mass, their enemies would suffer from those same limitations. What's more, those damned stealth cloaks would be useless there, for if the actual ship itself was invisible, the gasses displaced by those ships would be quite visible to Gorn sensors.

And this, even as Ss'karr dispatched a message home, requesting more troops, more ships… if they came, well enough, if not his fleet would get the job done, but the first task was to study sensor data, in order to spot the tell tale signs of those cloaked ships in the sensor readings, just before they struck the Gorn armada... they had time to do it right too, for phasers were useless in gas giants, the focused beams of light diffracted to uselessness by the gases, the guidance systems of the various torpedo batteries also easily spoofed by those same gasses, for the guidance systems relied on targeting lasers, and so the two fleets were locked in something of a stalemate now.


	32. Chapter 32

— **Chapter 32 —**

* * *

Bronte moved freely through the large quarters assigned Soval at the Vulcan Embassy in San Francisco, for she'd been living there openly with Soval since they'd reached Earth, and though no Vulcan had been rude enough, by Vulcan standards, to inquire into the nature of their relationship, logic dictated that such questions were unnecessary.

"Ah, here you are, Soval," said Bronte, coming upon Soval out on the balcony.

The ambassador, scion of a desert planet, had a long standing habit of spending time on this balcony in the evenings, the Vulcan entranced by the vast view of the Pacific Ocean all the way to the horizon, but on this particular evening the ambassador looked upwards as he studied the Tholian web crisscrossing Earth's skies, an energetic web visible even at high noon, and even more strikingly visible now, in the twilight hours.

"Here I am, my dear," said Soval, turning his head to face his Human lover, and Bronte came round the chair to face Soval.

"We are private here," said Soval, meaning that public Vulcan mores did not apply in this place, and Bronte took the hint and perched herself atop the Vulcan's thigh, then gave the ambassador a kiss on the lips.

"Mmmm, that's nice," said Bronte, and then the two savored the silence for a bit, before Bronte spoke again. "Any developments?"

She asked this for the tenth time today, for it had been almost two days since the Gorn had sought refuge in Jupiter's gaseous atmosphere.

"Nothing definitive yet," said Soval. "Sooner or later though, one side or the other will have to make a move."

"I don't suppose the Tholians could web Jupiter and seal the Gorn inside forever?"

"As a matter of fact it's been tried several times, with the number of Tholians which could be spared from their posts," said Soval, "and the Gorn came out in force to attack the Tholians each time, after which they retreated back into Jupiter's atmosphere."

"What is their goal in taking cover there?" said Bronte.

"Some of your satellites have intercepted their transmission to Hegemony space, and that comm stream was decrypted in short order," said Soval. "The Gorn sent a call to the Conclave for reinforcements, and we suspect they mean to wait for a second armada to come to their aid, and together, they mean to finish us off. The appearance of the Romulans has shaken them badly, and they mean to crack the secrets of the Romulan cloaking device before reinforcements come. Not that Minister Tucker means to wait for that to happen. He's got a plan."

"What plan?" said Bronte.

"You don't want to know," said Soval. "It's an insane plan."

"Tell me about it anyway, Soval," said Bronte, and once Soval did just that, Bronte paled and spoke once more. "Oh God, Soval, you're right. Tucker's lost his freaking mind!"

* * *

Ajan stepped into the captain's cabin she shared with her mate aboard the Klingon Bird of Prey chTang, and she walked in on Malcolm and BorrTok in a forbidden embrace. Well, perhaps not exactly forbidden, for the man was merely cradling the targ piglet to his chest as he fed him an apple, but still… there were more important things with which the man could occupy himself at this time, such as talking Tucker out of his insane plan to rid Sol system of the Gorn armada!

"You could make better use of your time, husband," said Ajan, glancing pointedly to BorrTok who ate the apple joyfully, uttering amusing little grunts even as his jaws smacked together, industriously grinding the apple down into a manageable portion.

Malcolm merely graced Ajan with a mildly skeptical look, and said, "Well BorrTok's still got to eat, doesn't he?"

"I suppose," said Ajan. "Have you talked to Tucker yet?"

"No."

"Why not?" said Ajan.

"Because I didn't feel like it, love," said Malcolm, playfully teasing BorrTok by holding an apple wedge out of the targ's reach for a few seconds, and smiling as BorrTok squirmed to grasp that tasty treat.

"You're one of his closest friends, if rumors are true," said Ajan. "You should talk some sense into that fool."

"He's always been a fool, Ajan, so let him do his thing in peace."

"His 'thing' may end up killing all of us," said Ajan.

"Don't tell me that a Klingon fears death, Ajan," said Malcolm, even as he held the last chunk of apple just so for BorrTok.

Ajan sighed, agitated, for she knew that her husband was purposely trolling her.

"That's it, isn't it?" said Malcolm. "If you're frightened, Ajan, it's ok to admit it to your mate."

"Shut up, fool," said Ajan, beginning to unbuckle her uniform. "If you will not do something useful about Tucker, lay that little bastard aside and attend to your wife."

* * *

"I have run the numbers a dozen times," said T'Pol, "and the equations bear out your calculations."

"Mmm, hmm," said Trip.

"But just because your numbers are right," said T'Pol, "does not mean this plan will work flawlessly, Trip. All of our ships must—"

"Must exit the area within .08 seconds," said Trip. "It can be done, T'Pol. Ship's computers can easily coordinate our maneuvers, and then whisk our ships to warp, and away, in that time."

"Certainly," said T'Pol, "but any mistakes—"

"…will mean death," said Trip. "I know, T'Pol. The risks are acceptable."

T'Pol nodded, seeing the sense of it all. There was no way to rid Sol system of the Gorn without risk or loss, but her mate's way at least offered the possibility of an essentially bloodless victory against the Gorn.

* * *

Isslin, 2nd A'jun to the 4th Talon, led his Gorn troopers through a room in which a number of Human and Vulcan corpses now twitched their last, and yet Isslin felt no elation at the sight, only a cold fury… the Gorn advance, or rather descent, into the massive cave complex on Delta Vega was not going well. Oh, they'd taken some nasty and fully expected losses during their initial breach of the cave complex, but even now, miles into the complex, they were taking losses, and none knew how deep down these caves extended.

Still, Isslin's troops had made their own kills in return, and these eighteen enemy corpses, operators of two cleverly concealed crew-served phaser canon batteries, had been betrayed by the scent of a single cigarette, lit by a foolish amateur in a hidden corner of the area, to the Gorn's keen olfactory sense… and thus this trap had been avoided, and the Gorn had turned the tables on this filth.

Isslin looked round him as his troops, in a blood frenzy, fed upon the corpses, and Isslin himself grabbed a Vulcan woman and scraped his teeth just over and above her facial bones to peel off the woman's face, the meat layered atop her skull, as neatly as any surgeon. Gulping that meat down with a quick movement of his jaws, Isslin released the ruined Vulcan corpse and wafted a scent of command, accompanied by a growl, and in response to those two imperatives, the feeding Gorn slowly disengaged from their kills and came to order, for it was apparently time to move on… no loss though, for they'd taken out a number of such enemy nests this day, and would do so again and again - the opportunities to feed would be endless.

And soon afterward, Isslin's battle group soon moved cautiously down a long passageway, but at the halfway point the Gorn's keen sense of hearing picked up a high-pitched whine that told them all they'd activated some sort of trap… not that they had any chance of avoiding it though, for an ultra-thin net of dura-steel wires, anchored at eight points along the passageway, was driven through this natural pipe at some 3,200 feet per second along unseen tracks… and when that net hit Isslin's group the effects were quite dramatic, as dura-steel wires cut through all matter, organic and inorganic, to leave eighty Gorn, sliced and diced as neatly as you please into grisly chunks of meat.

Ninety seconds after this device had killed Isslin's battle group, the mechanism reset itself in its original position, ready to act once more should its mechanism be triggered.

* * *

"T'Les," said Trip, for he'd run into his mother in law in Tek'Xzen's Mess Hall. "How are you, my dear?"

T'Les nodded her head, indicating that Trip should join her at the table, then said, "I am well enough, Trip."

The man's nickname still sounded odd to Vulcan ears, but they were private here, for the Mess Hall was empty save for the two of them at this time, and even by strict Vulcan mores it was acceptable to address her son in law in a familiar tone under such circumstances.

"I can't believe you're still on Tek'Xzen," said Trip. "A most illogical course of action on your part, T'Les."

T'Les dipped her head in acknowledgment of Trip's barb, and then the Vulcan said, "My next birthday comes round in 47.3 days, and I trust you will do your best to see that I live to celebrate that fine day."

"I will," said Trip. "I take it you've had a chance to crunch the numbers?"

T'Les nodded, for given her strong background in mathematics she'd been one of the people which reviewed Trip's work and plan to deal with the Gorn… sure, the man had run his equations through Tek'Xzen's computers, but caution demanded an overview of Trip's mad plan by multiple eyes…

"I have, and the equations bear you out," said T'Les. "I will caution you however that—"

Just then, Trip's comm unit buzzed, and Trip read a text message from Tek'Xzen's Comm officer: "Private message, sent by Harris. Directed to your Ready Room."

Trip remembered Harris, and Malcolm's cautions about the man, so Trip stood and said, "T'Les, I have to take a call. I'll find you once I deal with this matter and we'll talk about your concerns."

T'Les signaled her agreement with her son's intent, and Trip made an exit from the Mess Hall, leaving the Vulcan to savor her coffee in peace.

* * *

"Harris," said Trip, back in his Ready Room now. "What can I do for you?"

"Actually, I'm here to aid you, Minister Tucker," said Harris, the man's image displayed on the large wall mounted video monitor.

"How so?" said Trip, taking his seat and then propping his feet up on the edge of his desk.

"If I understand your plan—" said Harris.

"And how the hell did you find out about the plan?" said Trip. "It's on a need to know basis."

"Information is my business, Minister," said Harris, "and I need to know, in order to fulfill my duties."

"Go on," said Trip: Malcolm had warned him about Harris.

"If you intend to keep the Gorn in Jupiter's atmosphere, a direct order from the Hegemony's Conclave could aid you there," said Harris.

Trip caught Harris' intent instantly, but said, "Although we've cracked Gorn communications, we've not been able to crack their command codes. So that won't—"

"My department has cracked those command codes, Minister Tucker," said Harris.

"Really?" said Trip, intrigued now.

"Yes," said Harris, "and one of our ships will soon take a spacial position which seems appropriate for a Hegemony source transmission. Please make certain that none of your ships interfere with it. I'm sending you its transponder codes."

"Will do," said Trip, just as a ship's transponder code suddenly appeared on screen.

"Now, Minister," said Harris. "What message would you like to send the Gorn? We'll dress it up to match Gorn usage and syntax, but give me the gist of it."

Trip thought for a few seconds, then said, "Hold fast in your present position. Do not engage the enemy unless absolutely necessary. Reinforcements on course now. Arrival: ten days, estimated."

"Will do, Minister Tucker. Good luck," said Harris, and with that Harris ended his comm stream.


	33. Chapter 33

— **Chapter 33 —**

* * *

What with Harris' ship sending it's purported message from the Hegemony's Conclave to Ss'karr's armada taking shelter in Jupiter's atmosphere, the time to act had come, for despite the fact that the Gorn were surely aware of the Federations formations round Jupiter through the services of it's scouts, they'd chosen to do nothing for now, in obedience to their orders. And if they had, or eventually would choose to do something, if the Gorn should rise from Jupiter's depths to face the Federation ships, well then the whole enterprise would simply turn into a heated space battle of two naval leviathans lunging for each others throats and some combination of numbers, morale, instinctive reactions and prearranged battle plans would carry the day.

But the Gorn did nothing, not even as the Federation fleet dispersed around Jupiter's circumference, each ship assuming a predetermined position assigned by Tek'Xzen's computer, and despite the size of the Federation fleet, the ships still seemed thinly spread out, given Jupiter's size… no matter, those ships had not assumed those position to fight the Gorn in a conventional battle, for they had another purpose in assuming that formation. The mission clock had begun running nearly an hour ago, yet none of those ships had taken action yet, other than final tuning and preparation. Ten minutes still to go…

"Minister Tucker," said Tek'Xzen's Comm officer, "I have a transmission from President Avery."

Avery had been Sanders' vice-president, quickly stepping in to fill the vacancy left in the president's office by Sanders' ill advised diplomatic mission to the Gorn.

"Put him up," said Trip, from the captain's seat, and a moment later, Avery's image was displayed on Tek'Xzen's Bridge monitor, and Trip addressed the man.

"President Avery, a pleasure."

"Likewise, Minister Tucker," said Avery. "I know the clock is ticking, so I won't keep you long. I won't lie and tell you that we're all in agreement about your chosen course, but frankly, we can't stop you, and at least half my science advisers tell me that your plan will work. Given the alternatives, I wanted to wish you luck."

"I appreciate that, Mr. President."

Avery nodded good naturedly towards Trip, and the president's comm stream ended. This one seemed less of a prick than Sanders, and that was something good… and with that Trip lost himself in thought, even as he monitored the data streams scrolling on the Bridge monitor. Eventually the data stream ended, and the Bridge fell silent, save for some minor chirping sounds as the computers reported on the various functions aboard Tek'Xzen.

"All ships report ready, Minister Tucker," said T'Pol, and Trip felt his mate's support flowing through the psychic Bond they shared. "Our computer network is whole and complete. There are no gaps in the net."

Trip said nothing in response, taking in the silence for a minute or more, and then the minister looked to Ke'Zrell, manning the Tactical console.

"Initiate Bright-One," said Trip, calling the name given the lunatic maneuver he'd laid out for the Federation fleet.

Ke'Zrell nodded, and a moment later said, "Tek'Xzen's computer has the ball, Minister Tucker."

The next few seconds passed as slowly as molasses through a funnel, and then, seemingly out of nowhere, every ship in the Federation fleet began firing repeated salvos in response to Tek'Xzen's computer command.

* * *

There was a pattern to it all, the Gorn could sense that from below, as various forms of nuclear missiles, photon torpedoes, plasma torpedoes, began to pour from each ship in the Federation fleet. No worries as the Gorn saw things, for Jupiter's mass was so large that the Gorn simply descended deeper towards Jupiter's center, as the fools above them fired blindly into the gas giant, for the Federation's sensors were only useful for sampling the upper atmosphere of this huge planet… and yet the fools kept firing, and the Gorn hissed and growled in the way their species expressed amusement, until something went horribly wrong for the Gorn, and with that it all just went to hell…

* * *

"The computer has commenced MagTek saturation," said T'Pol, looking to her mate, as thousands of missiles were launched from the Klingon ships dispersed all around Jupiter.

Now MagTek was the English translation of the Klingon Tu'quo'mat, an explosive payload for a Klingon missile which created a wide energetic net of magnetic distortion, which served a variety of purposes - it stressed shields and caused physical damage, and deployed in sufficient numbers it would literally tear ships apart through overlapping magnetic fields… but that was not the purpose for which these MagTek missiles were deployed this day.

No, this day the thousands of MagTek missiles were computer directed to explode in a predetermined pattern, all in order to create a magnetic bottle of sorts, which would serve to concentrate and condense the extreme heat and radiation expended in Jupiter's atmosphere by the tens of thousands of nuclear missiles, photon torpedoes, phasers, disruptor beams, phasers and such poured into Jupiter's atmosphere by the other Federation ships, all with one goal in mind.

"Ninety seconds," said T'Pol, for the Vulcan intended to keep verbal track of the countdown, in ten second increments…

Trip nodded, for this was the crucial moment in which his theory would be proved, or disproved - oh, the numbers bore it all out, but still… see, he'd had a flash of inspiration in dealing with the Gorn, but the proof would be shown in the pudding.

And prove itself it did, starting off somewhere within the vast magnetic bottle created by the Klingon weapons, as Jupiter's atmosphere, mainly composed of molecular hydrogen and helium in roughly solar proportions, an atmosphere closely matching the make up of the solar system's sun, suddenly sparked to life in a self-sustaining process… and the changes which took place happened in the blink of an eye…

Almost instantly Jupiter's gaseous atmosphere combusted into a gigantic plasma field burning at some 5,500 hundred degrees(Kelvin), and almost as suddenly a hideously strong magnetic field was generated through internal convective motion within that plasma field via a dynamo process, and just like that, Jupiter was converted into a second sun, a tenth the size that of Sol's primary star, but much more than capable of doing the job required by the Federation.

See, it wasn't just the heat that was the real danger here, for Gorn shields could have resisted that heat long enough to exit this secondary star. The real danger was the magnetic field generated even as that secondary sun came to life, for that strong a field, surrounding the Gorn armada nestled in the heart of the new sun, almost instantly shorted out Gorn engines and shields, and thus the Gorn deaths in the heart of the new sun were horrid beyond belief, though mercifully quick… and thus the first Hegemony armada sent against Earth met a fiery end with the relatively light losses on the Federation's part from the initial clash when the Gorn entered the Sol system… between the surprise the cloaked Romulan element presented to the Gorn and Minister Tucker's flash of inspiration, the defense of Earth had gone as well a possible here, and this Gorn armada was gone… just gone, in the blink of an eye, and a new sun born that day.

* * *

T'Pol headed for the quarters she shared with her mate aboard Tek'Xzen, some nine hours after the Gorn armada had met its fiery end, and though there was still much work to do in assessing the damage and losses to the Federation fleet, all of it could wait now that the ships in the Federation fleet had been stabilized, as had the casualties taken among the crews - all else could wait the coming of the next day… and as the Vulcan drew closer to the captain's quarters, she could feel her mate's presence there, for the man exerted something of a magnetic pull on her psyche, likely a reflection of her own pull on his mind.

Sure enough, upon entering their quarters T'Pol saw her mate standing before the floor to ceiling twelve inch thick glass-steel window which looked upon the newborn sun which the Federation fleet had made of Jupiter. The view really was breath taking, given that the window stretched horizontally the entire port side of the captain's quarters…

Her mate remained still and silent, but T'Pol felt the resonance from her mate's mind and knew the man was well aware of her, and so T'Pol moved up behind him in order to kiss the back of his neck as she embraced him from behind… he tweaked his end of the Bond and the Vulcan felt the physical sensation of a caress on her left cheek even as the man probed her psyche, likely seeking something of a status report on her mental state now that the battle was over and they were private, and in response T'Pol shivered - the act of being psychically probed by one's mate was almost a sensual act for the Vulcan, no matter that it left her bare for her mate's inspection.

That fact had caused her some embarrassment in their early days of sharing the Bond, in days when she'd imagined she would maintain some semblance of privacy even within the Bond in order to hide her debased internal state, but that had turned out to be an unfounded expectation… he knew it all: the shame of failing her people, her rampant drug use, her feelings of utter worthlessness, the hateful encounters with her string of sexual partners, each one more unbalanced and psychotic than the previous one, the hopeless pit of despair her life had become, the wallowing in all that for years… all that and more, he knew.

And when she'd tried to extinguish the shame of being bared fully in her mate's eyes through pain, she'd begged him, "Hit me, Trip. Hard. Break me!" and she'd accompanied her words with images of his hand smashing her face, repeatedly.

And yet when she'd made the request she'd felt no disturbance in the man's psyche despite the fact that her request was presumably most unexpected, but that made sense on second thought, for he knew her inside out now to a degree which made the intimacy between Humans laughable… so her needs were well known to him, though that had been the first time she'd made such requests of him, verbally or psychically.

"Hit me! Please!" she said once more, and then T'Pol groaned in pain, for rather than smashing her face, her mate had pressed nerve junction T99B just so, activating that node then pulling his hand away without deactivating the node through sustained pressure over the course of six seconds…

Now T'Pol had been teaching Trip Vulcan neuro-pressure techniques in private, but she'd not taught him that one… who had? But even that thought became irrelevant as the Vulcan's blood seemingly warmed almost immediately… and he'd not deactivated that node - surely he knew what that meant! She herself could not reach that point on her back, not that T'Pol cared, no matter that she knew the price T99B would soon extract from her.

Her mate then pressed T'Pol backwards against the wall and kissed her, his lips and his kiss soft, light and teasing and T'Pol groaned, with both pleasure, and pain for her blood seemingly began to grow hotter…

She'd just taken a shower so it was no great accomplishment for her mate to whisk away the towel draped about her torso, and apparently no greater a task to take her breasts in his calloused hands and work them sensually, even as the Vulcan's blood had seemingly began to boil, sweat beading along her brow…

She'd groaned then, the first twinges of a pain much more intense than she'd expected when she'd begged her mate to hit her, yet she welcomed it… how delicate of the man, to give her what she needed while still showing a consideration for her person which none of the others ever had…

And T'Pol had fumbled with his pants zipper for there was no question of getting the man's pants off, what with the way he pressed her against the wall, and the way she herself twined her legs and arms round him, and after a brief fumble, T'Pol had matters in hand, a hot length of cock in her hands, and with that the Vulcan did a gymnastic maneuver of bracing herself against the wall and her mate's body, in order to position herself just so and then hold herself just above the helm of her mate's rigid cock.

She whimpered then, T'Pol, her blood singing now even as it surely boiled, her torso covered in sweat, her sex drenched in her excitement, and then she cried out sharply when her mate buried himself inside her to the hilt with one swift, delicious motion. T'Pol's hands dug their nails into his chest, pulling downward, but if her mate noticed the pain at all, it served only to energize him as he began moving roughly, but slowly and sensuously inside her, turning the Vulcan into putty now even as he bruised her petals with his forceful thrusts… how long it all continued, T'Pol had no way of knowing, for her mate had seemed determined to kill her in a most pleasurable manner that night, not that T'Pol would have raised the tiniest cry of protest - death was a small price to pay for a Bond fully realized, the spirit made flesh, even briefly.

But that was then and this was now, and T'Pol was no longer ashamed of acknowledging her desires to her mate - that would be illogical. It helped as well, that beneath that relatively easy going and pleasant exterior the man had some twisted tastes and fantasies of his own, and truth be told, T'Pol was grateful for that - a Vulcan mate would have had no chance of dealing with someone as damaged as she'd been at the beginning of their Bond, but this man had untangled the knots in her psyche with a single-minded focus and a steady hand as smooth as silk, as hard as steel… she'd been certain at the time that he'd fuck it up due to his unfamiliarity with a Vulcan's psyche, frightened that he'd shatter her mind in the process and leave her scattered about in pieces, yet instead, he'd practically rebuilt her from scratch… he might be a captain and a minister now, but deep inside her mate would always be an engineer.

* * *

**Gratitude to the mysterious Guest who has left a multi-part subsidiary story of Zombie Daniel Radcliff and his side kick Borr'Tok in my reviews section, a story which is surely divinely inspired, and reads like something one could cast Bogart and Bacall to act out. You're either a genius or a fool, but I'm betting on the former : )


	34. Chapter 34

— **Chapter 34 —**

* * *

"…and so," said Minister Tucker, winding down his presentation before Earth's Senate, "we can safely consider the Hegemony's first direct threat to Sol system safely dispensed with. There will undoubtedly be more attacks in time, unless we can wipe out the last of the Hegemony's strongholds and send the Gorn spiraling down into a Stone Age until the next passage of Nemesis."

Looking about the room, taking in the assembled Senators, the minister continued.

"Questions?"

Senator Li was the first to speak, and said, "While I'm certain that the disposal of the Gorn armada served Earth's interests, you have created a second sun in our system, Minister Tucker, and that's something which will surely have ramifications for us all in the future."

"The same Klingon MagTek missiles which helped create the sun, can snuff it out," said Minister Tucker. "Disrupt the harmonics of the magnetic field, and the sustained reaction which maintains this secondary sun will collapse."

"And how many of these MagTek missiles will be needed for this task?" said Li.

"24,091," said Tucker. "The Klingons will send us all the MagTeks they can spare when they return to their empire, and they've shared the specs of this weapon with us. Even if we have to build them ourselves, we'll have enough missiles for this task in fourteen months, give or take thirty days."

"And until then?" said Li.

"We'll be all right," said Tucker. "The majority of the star systems in the universe are binary star systems, and some, like Vulcan, are trinary star systems."

"We are not Vulcans, Minister Tucker," said Li.

"Even so," said Tucker, "we can block the effects of Jupiter's energy output to Earth, through various mechanisms."

"Such as?" said Li.

"Atmospheric seeding of Earth's mesosphere with any number of reflective compounds is one mechanism," said Tucker. "That would allow us to filter out the additional solar radiation, either temporarily, or permanently, and if needed these compounds can be removed through the use of nanobot technology. That is only one technology to abate Jupiter's solar radiation. There are others, Senator."

"Thank you, Minister," said Li, taking his seat.

And with Li's questions answered, dozens more followed, all dealt with in their time, and finally Senator Wills spoke up, to wind up the question and answer session.

"We thank you for the time you've taken to answer our concerns, Minister Tucker," said Wills, "and I'm personally appreciative of your service to our planet, but… what now? The crisis which elevated you to political office has been ably dealt with. Do you retire from political life now?"

"The terms of my appointment are clear, Senator," said Tucker. "I retire when StarFleet is able to assume responsibility for the defense of Earth and its colonies in Sol system."

Wills looked towards Admiral Forrest of StarFleet, who'd been returned to active duty by Sanders' successor to the presidential office, and said, "Admiral?"

"StarFleet stands ready to do its duty in defense of Sol's system," said Forrest.

"Really?" said Tucker, looking at Forrest. "Are you stating for the record that StarFleet can competently deal with any threat to Sol system as well as a Federation fleet, Admiral?"

Forrest had the good grace to keep silent at that question, for in truth StarFleet's ships could not hope to match the defensive potential of the Federation fleet which had come to Earth's defense.

"The admiral won't answer that question in the affirmative, you see, because to do so would be to lie to this Senate," said Tucker. "StarFleet is not yet ready to assume that task. To StarFleet I say, get stronger, be better. Until then, the Federation will defend Sol system, and until then I'll hold my office, though I have no desire for it."

"But it would take decades to build a fleet up to that task," said Wills, with the satisfied air of a fox sizing up a particularly plump chicken.

"My Science officer has calculated that it would take 5.2 years to complete that task if a sizable portion of Earth's budget was channeled to that task," said Trip. "I will press hard for such budget allocations."

"And you mean to rule as an unelected tyrant until StarFleet is up to that task, Minister Tucker?" said Wills.

"A tyrant? You're being a bit melodramatic, Senator," said Tucker. "I was legitimately appointed to my office through the services of the Senate itself, and my portfolio covers Earth's defense, nothing more."

"And we both know how far that can be stretched, Minister Tucker," said Wills. "I'll admit you did an admirable job during your tenure, Minister, so why not resign now? If ever we should need your talents again, a reappointment to your current office would be a breeze, no doubt. Why not follow my advice?"

"Because the politicians of Earth will be loathe to spend the moneys required to beef up StarFleet without a visible threat on the horizon," said Tucker.

"Even if that's so, such choices are our right, and your insistence that you know what's best for us all brings me back to my previous point, Minister Tucker," said Wills. "You mean to rule as an unelected tyrant."

"Again, I was lawfully appointed to my office, Senator Wills," said Tucker.

"Fine," said Wills, "a lawfully appointed tyrant."

Tucker gave Wills an easy smile which was at odds with the cold look in the minister's ice blue eyes, and said, "Have it your way, Senator. I mean to make certain that StarFleet stands ready to repel the Gorn if necessary, and I mean to retain my office until that time."

"Whatever it takes?" said Wills, a slight smile on his face.

"Whatever it takes," said Tucker, seeing the senator's trap clearly, but frankly, not giving a damn about the senator's political gambit. "I've already proved myself, by taking my place in the line of battle against the Gorn recently. Where were you, Senator Wills? I didn't see you there. I didn't see any of you there."

…and that ended Minister Tucker's presentation to the Senate, even as it started a conversation about Minister Tucker's intent all through Sol system, for that presentation had been broadcast live on all newsnets.

* * *

Malcolm entered the captain's quarters on ch'Tang which he shared with his Klingon mate, and made his way to the couch, where he took a seat after lowering himself down gently. Only minutes later, his mate Ajan entered the room, fire in her eyes, and though she said nothing, it was clear that she was angry.

"How do, love?" said Malcolm, and Ajan responded by slamming the laptop she was carrying onto the small table they both used, and Malcolm winced: hopefully that was an old laptop. "That well, eh?"

In response Ajan threw the laptop across the room, and Malcolm sighed… the woman could be murder on tech goods when she was in a mood.

"So what's wrong, love?" said Malcolm.

"You're supposed to be in Medical for another three days!" said Ajan, an accusatory tone to her voice. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here because I'm fine, Ajan," said Malcolm, who'd been wounded in the initial battle with the Gorn.

"That's not what Doctor Khorat tells me!" said Ajan. "You need to get back to Medical!"

"I don't feel like it, Ajan, and you know I hate both hospitals and Medical Bays alike," said Malcolm, reaching out for Ajan. "Now give me a kiss."

"No!" said Ajan, pulling her hand away and stamping her booted foot on the deck for emphasis. "Be reasonable, Malcolm. Come, I'll take you back to Medical and we'll put all this behind us."

"I said I'm not going," said Malcolm, yawning now. "Now stop asking, or go back to your post and finish out your shift."

Ajan said nothing, though she glowered down at her mate… the man could be so exasperating at times!

"Well, if you intend to just stand there, glaring at me, I'll call Security and have you escorted back to your post," said Malcolm.

"You must have taken leave of your senses, fool!" said Ajan.

Malcolm looked up at Ajan even as his hand reached for his Comm unit, and he said, "Don't be difficult, Ajan. I'm not in the mood for it."

"I'm going to kill you someday, husband," said Ajan, her left hand fondling the hilt of her dagger, and then a moment later she sighed. "But not today. So what now, if you will not return to Medical?"

"Let's have Chef fix us something worthwhile for dinner, pop on something good from the multi-media library, and make a night of it," said Malcolm.

Ajan grunted in agreement and kicked off her boots, then stretched out on the couch, head resting on Malcolm's lap, looking up at her mate.

"You can be a real jerk sometimes, Malcolm," said Ajan, though there was no venom in her tone - she was just being contrary.

"Oh, aye," said Malcolm, his left hand caressing the Klingon's neck absentmindedly as he pulled up the Meal Order app on his PADD unit with his other hand. "So what do you want to eat, Ajan?"

"You choose," said Ajan, who'd developed a taste for Human foods, despite a lamentable lack of the living component to the meal: she'd actually suggested adding bloodworms to a number of Earth's dishes to improve them, but Malcolm, with his Human sensibilities, was still not up to eating such things as anything but a dare - a pity. "Where's BorrTok?"

"Chef's got two crates of mangoes beginning to spoil," said Malcolm, "and he said BorrTok could have them. Our little targ will be eating all through the night."

"Good for him," said Ajan, pleased that she had Malcolm all to herself, for though she liked BorrTok, the baby targ was intensely focused on his master and had an annoying tendency to vie for Malcolm's attention constantly, which could be tiring at times.

* * *

Trip & T'Pol now walked for the exit of the main building in the wake of his speech to the Senate, where Ke'Zrell waited for them both with one of Tek'Xzen's Security teams… the Klingon had asked permission to bring his team inside the Senate Chambers but Trip thought that overkill, given that the Senate building was patrolled by government officers… as it turned out, perhaps Trip should have listened to Ke'Zrell, for as he and T'Pol moved through the hallways, two women and a man rushed them both, screaming "Murderer!"

It should have been nothing, it should have been a minor incident, but even as the trio had begun their rush towards the minister, T'Pol had crossed Trip's path to meet these people head on… now the trio might have passed T'Pol by, given the chance, for the delicate seeming Vulcan would not register as a threat to most amateurs despite her poise in the face of their rush, but minister Tucker was this Vulcan's mate, and what's more T'Pol had passed through hell before meeting this man, and so she'd take no chances… it wasn't an intellectual decision for her, you see, for the instincts and training which the Vulcan V'Shar had inculcated in T'Pol asserted themselves forcefully when the woman felt a threat to her mate.

She palmed the woman charging in the lead right on her chin, driving the woman's head upwards and backwards sharply, and promptly off her feet a split second after ushering the woman into unconsciousness, and then, before the woman even hit the ground, T'Pol stepped forward to meet the man… she blended with the man's rush, spun even as she trapped the man's right arm and broke it at the elbow, after which she completed the movement by breaking his left knee. The last woman was obese enough for that to slow her rush, and so she'd come to a halt well outside T'Pol range, looking at the Vulcan now, wide-eyed… and then the woman started screaming, screaming her head off in tandem with the man, who wouldn't be dancing any time soon. The Vulcan's response to the trio's charge, from first contact with the female to taking the man down, had occurred in the space of 3.9 seconds.

"T'Pol," said Tucker, who'd watched his mate's response calmly, for he was well aware of his mate's skill set, and he'd known through the feedback through their Bond that she'd been beyond recall once she'd sensed a threat. "T'Pol, let's go."

"We should wait for the officers responding to this scene," said T'Pol, her keen Vulcan hearing picking up sound of voices as men raced through the halls to reach them.

"There's a security office five doors down," said Trip. "We'll wait there."

And wait they did, for the next hour, while the security chief viewed the footage of the event, after which he bid the minister and his Vulcan bodyguard farewell… this whole thing would be settled in the courts. And as it turned out, these three people had lost relatives in the initial combat between the Bands and StarFleet, when the Federation had entered Sol system, and they held Trip responsible for that fact.

"It couldn't be helped, T'Pol," said Trip, feeling the tension in his mate's mind, as their shuttle made way for Tek'Xzen. "Don't worry about it. You didn't hurt any of them permanently."

"I am not worried about them," said T'Pol tightly, and Trip now sensed the cause of his mate's tension.

Trip brought up his mate's left hand and kissed her fingers, then merely took her hand in his, holding it tightly… there was nothing to say in response to T'Pol's fears - those fears were real and they were logical, but such was life - nothing to be done about them, save remain eternally vigilant.

* * *

During the following week, the various Federation fleets dispersed back to their home systems, save for two hundred of the Tholian ships, who'd agreed to remain here indefinitely in defense of Earth, and better yet, the Andorians and Klingons planned to follow some 3/4 of the Bands back to Delta Vega in order to assist the survivors, if any, on that cold and barren planet.

Meanwhile, 1/2 the Romulan fleet and The Breed laid course for the Hegemony's system, where they'd explore the possibility of taking out the remaining Hegemony worlds, or at least taking out the Hegemony's tech base.

* * *

"I still think I should stay here with you, Trip," said Malcolm, seated in Tek'Xzen's Ready Room with Trip, T'Pol and Ajan by his side. "My place is with the Bands."

"You're more useful to me with the Klingons now, Malcolm," said Trip. "You're a visible reminder of the aid we've given them, and from what I hear, you've become a minor celebrity there. Very minor. Almost insignificant, but you're still good PR for us, Malcolm."

"Thanks, you bastard," said Malcolm, a sour look on his face.

"If it would make you feel better, you can leave Ajan here for a bit," said Trip, with a straight face. "I'll send her back to you in good time, with my baby in her stomach."

"Well now…" said Ajan, taking stock of her mate, and laughing loudly.

"You cock!" said Malcolm with a snort, and then the Brit turned to Ajan. "Don't even think about it. I'll kill you both!"

"I second that sentiment, Captain Reed," said T'Pol, who'd apparently taken umbrage with Trip's offer to Malcolm.

"My bad, my bad," said Trip, hands raised in a gesture meant to placate all in the room. "Now get out of here, Malcolm. Catch up with the Klingons."

Malcolm nodded and stood, then he and Trip grasped forearms and hugged it out, with a couple of backslaps thrown in for good measure, and soon after, ch'Tang, Malcolm's Klingon ship, warped out of Sol system.

"What now?" said T'Pol. "We have lots of work to do."

"Work can wait. You wanna bang one out?" said Trip. "Here? Now?"

T'Pol merely raised a cultured brow, then said, "Yes. Yes I do."

Just moments later, Human and Vulcan practically ripped each others clothes off, and the world at large faded for them both, at least for a time.


	35. Chapter 35

— **Chapter 35 —**

* * *

Malcolm breathed lightly as he moved gracefully round a younger Klingon, each man facing the other with blade drawn… as for what in particular had triggered this Klingon prick to attack him here and now, on K'mpec's ship, was a mystery to Malcolm. Not that it truly mattered, for Klingons could assault one another seemingly at will, on the slightest pretext. Rank typically made a difference though, as Klingons typically channeled their most naked aggression towards immediate peers - there was no honor to be gained in bullying a subordinate whose submission was guaranteed by the chain of command, while attacking a superior was generally rewarded with a speedy journey to Sto-vo-kor at the hands of said superior's underlings. So that made this Klingon's attack surprising, for Malcolm was a captain of a Klingon made ship, flying in formation with a Klingon fleet as an honored member of that fleet, and this young Klingon ranked as an enlisted crewman. He'd spit out Ajan's name though, along with some guttural curses not long ago, so perhaps he'd held some claim on her previously…

"If so, tough shit," thought Malcolm, purposely retreating before the Klingon in a show of uncertainty now. "Come on you bastard."

And just as Malcolm had hoped, that calculated retreat instinctively triggered an aggressive rush from the Klingon, which figured. The Klingon was newly come to manhood, and he'd apparently not yet internalized the fact that discipline was a warrior's armor and weapon both. The result of such unrestrained élan against a fighter as seasoned as Malcolm was predictable, and moments later the Klingon stood at Malcolm's mercy, as the Human readied to drive his blade in the man's heart…

"Reed! No!" said Ajan, stepping up to face her husband. "You can't."

"Elaborate," said Malcolm to Ajan, without ever taking his eyes of the Klingon in his grasp.

"He is my cousin, Raffek," said Ajan.

"So what's he want with me?"

"It's Klingon custom, husband," said Ajan. "We are a proud clan, and we do not routinely breed with off-worlders. It seems that you must prove your fitness to my clan, husband, but killing is not justified in such duels."

"So this was it?" said Malcolm. "This was the test?"

"There will be nine more similar tests," said Raffek, grinning openly at Malcolm.

And something about Raffek's shitty grin irritated Malcolm, so the Human spun the blade round in a flash and brought the pommel of his blade in firm contact with the Klingon's head, instantly knocking the man unconscious… no harm done though - Klingons were a notoriously hard headed lot.

* * *

"So that's where things stand where StarFleet is concerned, Minister Tucker," said Admiral Ryan, Commodore Archer by his side, as the Admiral brought their discussion to a close. "You're a very polarizing figure in our ranks, given that your men have shed blood among our crews not long ago."

Trip nodded in understanding, and Ryan continued speaking.

"There's a general resentment in our ranks at our losses, and half of our people want you gone, while the other half sees the Gorn as the true threat," said Ryan, "but they're all willing to back your plays for now, so long as your legal powers are honored by the Senate and the people."

"I understand, Admiral," said Trip, who'd taken this meeting at Ryan's request, as a get acquainted measure between them both, "and I'm glad we had a chance to speak."

Ryan nodded, stood, saluted, and then left Archer behind with the minister, for he knew the two men were old acquaintances.

"Ryan is one of your most outspoken supporters," said Archer with a poker face, studying Trip closely. "Now Forrest, he can't stand you."

Trip shrugged, then said, "What about you?"

"I haven't decided," said Archer, "but I think it would best serve us all if you and your men go back to Delta Vega, and let us put our own house in order," said Archer.

"I can't do that, Jon," said Trip. "Without me here on Earth, I might not be able to draw the Federation to Earth next time they're needed here. Worse yet, the Hegemony might mount attacks on numerous fronts, and the member species of the Federation might be unable to spare troops and ships for Earth. StarFleet has to grow, and grow fast, and I mean to make certain that happens."

"The budget you're asking for is outlandish, as I understand it," said Archer. "You'll never get it, but if you do, you'll piss off the majority of the population."

"Five years of austerity is a small price to pay for Sol system's security from the Gorn," said Trip. "The people will have to suck it up, Jon."

The two men fell silent for a time, but eventually Archer stood and said, "You'd better know what you're doing, Trip, or those bastards will eat you up. You listening? All of them. The politicians, the Admiralty, the public, the press, the president. You're the media's darling now, but the long knives will come out for you in due time, Trip."

"I know," said Trip, and with that said and acknowledged, Archer departed, leaving Trip behind.

Moments later, the minister departed as well, for he had two more meetings to attend, before he could join his mate on Tek'Xzen.

* * *

Serlitte, the Imperial Guard, moved through Human fighters and Andorian Guards alike, in order to enter the current command post some 1,400 feet beneath Delta Vega's surface… within, Serlitte found Zattar, the Andorian Ba'jat in charge of this detachment of 2,000 Imperial Guards, which fought with the Delta Vegans on the Emperor's orders.

Zattar noted Serlitte's entry, and his eyes interrogated the woman briefly, all others in the room irrelevant for the moment.

"I'm fine, Ba'jat," said Serliette, though the bandage pasted over the right side of her face belied her words: she'd recently lost that eye in skirmish with the Gorn, when a Gorn phaser struck the rockface next to Serlitte, sending shards of stony shrapnel into her face.

Zattar nodded at Serlitte's assurances, and both Andorians then turned their attention to retired Marine General Vendt, as he detailed the plans for a last major stand against the Gorn, after which the Humans, Vulcans and Andorians would disperse, following the rest of Delta Vega's denizens in the increasingly divergent and yet smaller tunnels found even deeper beneath the planet's crust… this would be done in order to hamper the Gorn, whose numerical advantage would be negated and their ability to maneuver limited by the cramped tunnels to be found from here on down. This would also be the last major stand taken against the Gorn by Delta Vega's defenders, after which the skirmishes between the two combative sides would get more smaller, more intimate, and even nastier.

Now the plans for this last stand were settled in short order, for the layout of this huge cavern made the majority of Vendt's decisions for him, dictating the most advantageous place to hold. Now, it was just a matter of waiting. The Gorn would suffer heavy casualties here, but they'd eventually take this cavern, but just before that point in time, Delta Vega's fighters would vacate this cavern and blow the tunnels behind them, hampering the Hegemony's troops for at least an hour or two in their pursuit.

Serlitte was with Zattar, of course, for if he fell in the line of duty it would be for Serlitte to assume command of the Imperial Guards detachment, and as they waited patiently, Serlitte's gaze touched Zattar. Zattar noted his lieutenant's attention, and raised his chin a fraction.

"Nothing, Ba'jat," said Serlitte, her antennas swept backwards. "Our thoughts should be focused on the Gorn for now."

"We've got time to kill before they arrive," said Zattar. "What's on your mind, Serlitte?"

Serlitte breathed deeply, her face composed though her heart raced in despair, and the Andorian said, "In light of the recent disfiguring injury which I've suffered, I release you from the kirrilli-zan which—"

Zattar's clear irritation upon hearing those words brought Serlitte to a halt, for she knew the man's moods well… actually, she knew every part of him but the physical, for she'd loved Zattar since the moment she'd met him, and though she'd only recently made her feelings for him known by inviting him to share the kirrilli-zan, the Andorian mating cycle with her, this injury would bring all that to a halt. Not only was her vision permanently compromised, which would see her dismissed from the Guard's active duty roster, but the injury had also surely disfigured an up to now beautiful face of which Serlitte had been unjustifiably proud - but now…

"Ba'jat," said Serlitte, "you deserve a suitable mate. I no longe—"

"Stop talking, fool," said Zattar, facing Serlitte directly now, his antennas undulating slowly, like sea serpents.

"Zattar, I would not shame you by—"

"I gave you an order, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Ba'jat," said Serlitte.

"Now you've already invited me to share the kirrilli-zan," said Zattar, "and therefore it's not for you to release me from the cycle, but for me to opt out, if I so choose. I do not choose to do that, Serlitte."

"Yes, Ba'jat," said Serlitte, her spirit soaring: though she'd likely die on this barren rock, the Andorian was not dismayed by that thought, so content was she at this particular moment. "I understand."

"See that you do. Nothing changes between us," said Zattar, "if we both survive this place, Serlitte."

Serlitte nodded, and a few moments later she said, "What do you think the odds of that, Zattar?"

"The odds are shit, Serlitte," said Zattar, and the way the man's look lingered on her even as his antennas audibly took in her scent, warmed Serlitte.

"Still," said Serlitte, looking closely at Zattar, "it would be a crime if we were killed before a proper mating cycle."

Zattar chuckled at that even as he caressed Serlitte's cheek with the back of his hand, and said, "Oh yes, Serlitte."

* * *

T'Pol glanced out into the audience, impressed despite herself at the grandeur of this chamber, a hundred thousand people easily in attendance here, and another two or three billion surely watching the live broadcast as a number of Andorian, Klingon and Tholian diplomats prepared to address Earth in a bid to get the planet to join the Federation. T'Pol's mate was here as well in order to support that push, and T'Pol was here to show support for her mate, in both a personal and an official capacity.

Minister Tucker was scheduled to speak first, for after his speech he'd make a discreet departure, and that was all good so far as T'Pol was concerned… she had a headache, and her concentration suffered because of it. She couldn't even remember the name of this damned chamber now, and that was just plain embarrassing.

Just then her mate stood and moved for the podium, and T'Pol focused on the man as he prepared to begin his speech, and soon enough he did just that. She'd heard her mate's speech the previous night as he practiced it, and she knew it was mercifully short, some ten minutes in length, after which they could return to Tek'Xzen and maybe squeeze out a few hours of personal time, before the new day with all its attendant duties, found them both.

And just then, something, she knew not what, drew T'Pol's attention into the crowd, and then back to her mate: just in time to see, a phaser rifle's energy bolt enter her mate's center mass, right over his heart - that bolt followed almost instantly, by two more energy bolts!

And just then T'Pol woke in the cabin she shared with her mate aboard Tek'Xzen, an anguished scream torn from her throat. An instant later the Vulcan realized she'd dreamt all that, and T'Pol moaned in relief as she slipped from her bed to head for the bathroom, where she cleansed her face with cold water, then took stock of herself... and just then the cabin's door slid open and a half dozen Security officers rushed her quarters, compact phasers readied to kill if necessary…

"It is all right," said T'Pol, understanding what happened: her mate had felt her utter distress through the Bond they shared, and rather than distract her from whatever situation had alarmed her so deeply by communing with her through the Bond, he'd sent these men to aid her. "I am all right."

"Minister Tucker sent us here," said Torvel, head of this Security team. "He said you were in some sort of danger-"

"I know," said T'Pol. "It was a mistake. I thank you for your service, Lt. Torvel, but as you can see all is well."

"Understood, Commander," said Torvel. "I'll leave two men outside your quarters until the Minister dismisses them. He's due back in a few hours, but I'll contact him immediately, inform him know that all's well with you."

"Allow me to be the one to contact Minister Tucker, Lt. Torvel," said T'Pol.

"As you say, Commander," said Torvel.

Moments later, the security team had vacated the room, leaving T'Pol alone with her thoughts… and after a few deep breaths, the Vulcan reached out to her mate through the Bond they shared, in order to reassure the man she loved that all was well, and that the fright she'd suffered had all been nothing but a dream.

* * *

The last major battle against the Gorn on Delta Vega took place within the huge cavern which General Vendt had selected for that very purpose, as it offered some valuable tactical advantages for the planet's defenders, in the form of numerous positions above ground level which allowed the Delta Vegans to pour down a rain of weapons fire upon the Gorn from above: massed phaser fire from crew served weapons emplacements, rocket propelled sonic grenades which ruptured internal organs and shattered Gorn eardrums, hefra launchers which vaulted flammable payloads improvised from some of the fuel deposits stored in this cavern for mining operations during normal operations, and all that while snipers sought to swiftly eliminate the Priest-Kings driving the common Gorn forward into battle, these snipers seeking to decapitate the command & control structure which gave the Hegemony's forces their cohesion. As for the defenders facing the Hegemony's charge on the ground, they relied on phaser rifles, fast moving stone cutter drills mounted on large tractors and pressed into service and driven at reackless speeds in order to cut deeply into the Hegemony's massed formations, and all that while industrial flame throwers used to clear out the fungus spores which grew at astonishing rates under Delta Vega's surface, breathed their fiery breath on the Gorn…

Yet despite all that, things still went badly with the Gorn pushing through the withering fire to launch their own missile attacks of their own: small rocket fire launched from shoulder mounted weapons raked the defender's positions up above, even as robotically driven probes flew towards the Delta Vegans only to plunge in their ranks before exploding into a nasty rain of shrapnel, even as larger probes the size of a motorcycles propelled themselves along the ground at fearsome speeds in order to explode within the defender's ranks, and all that while the Gorn troopers charged the Delta Vegans on foot, in an odd, loping run which ate up the distance between the two sides at an impressive rate… and where the leading edge of these to opposing sides finally made contact, the nastiest of fighting took place, as the Gorn unleashed the full horror of their abilities on the Humans, Vulcans and Andorians making up the defensive line…

…and just as Vendt was about to sound the general retreat which would see the defensive force retreat through the tunnels, leaving their badly wounded behind for the Gorn to feed upon, just then, a great shout came from somewhere to the rear, and weapons fire began sounding on the Hegemony's rear positions, echoing all through the large cavern, and that weapons fire noise followed by the bestial roars of thousands of Gorn.

"Overwatch 7," said Zattar, thumbing his comm unit in order to reach out to one of his Andorian Guards on overwatch duty, tracking the flow of battle. "Report."

"We've got back up, Ba'jat!" said Overwatch 7. "I see Klingons, Andorians, Humans and Vulcans raking the Hegemony's rear formations with weapons fire. The Gorn will eventually regroup, but they'll take some heavy losses until they do. Our Guards are using Hefrek missiles, the Klingons some type of pain inducers that's bringing Gorn down by the hundreds, and the Bands are lobbying rocket propelled grenades into the massed Gorn formations."

Vendt caught Zattar's eye, and the old Marine grinned even as Zattar nodded in agreement.

"I want all units on the line!" said Vendt, even as his lieutenants passed those orders along. "I want snipers to put down every God damned Priest-King out there, now! I want massed missile fire poured into the Gorn formations and I don't want any of those bastards closing within melee range."

And so it went, and yet despite a decided tactical advantage for the Federation, the outcome of the battle hung in the balance for far too long, as the Gorn were nothing if not fierce combatants, but at the end of it all, thousands of Gorn lay dead about the floor of that massive cavern, surrounded by almost half their number of Federation troops... still, by the end of that day, Delta Vega was free once more. No doubt, hundreds of Gorn still moved through Delta Vega's underground tunnels, and they'd be a pain in the ass to dig out, but they'd all be dug out, one by one if necessary.

"Ba'jat," said Serlitte, looking a bit resentfully at Zattar, for she was covered in dust and blood and brains, while Zattar looked almost untouched save for a cut on his face and a bit of dust on his uniform, and this despite the fact that their places in the line of battle had been in close proximity. "A message from the Emperor. He asks for a report."

"You go, Serlitte," said Zattar. "If this is your last mission with the Guards, it should be you who briefs his Imperial Highness of our deeds here."

"Zattar, no," said Serlitte. "It would be good for your career to stand in the presence of his Highness."

"My duty binds me here, Serlitte," said Zattar, "and you know your father will be proud to hear you personally reported to the Emperor at the close of this action. Go now."

And with that Serlitte inclined her head in obedience to her orders, and turned to make way for the Emperor's ship, while Vendt's grin caught Zattar's attention.

"That's a hell of woman," said Vendt who'd seen Serlitte take command of a Guards detail and lead a counterattack to press a weakness in the Hegemony's line.

"That she is," said Zattar, catching a last glimpse of Serlitte as she made her way through the ranks.

"It's been an honor to fight with the Imperial Guards, Zattar," said Vendt, holding his arm out towards Zattar.

"You're right about that, General," said Zattar, grasping Vendt's forearm in a Guard's salute.

Vendt laughed, and said, "You arrogant prick!"

…and Zattar smiled: he'd never met a Human before this assignment, but these people were all right.


	36. Chapter 36

— **Chapter 36 —**

* * *

Months had passed since the grand Federation fleet had destroyed the Gorn armada in Earth's Sol system, and much had happened since that time.

For one, the Romulan and The Breed contingents which had set course for Hegemony space immediately after the defeat of the Gorn armada had failed in their mission to destroy the remaining Gorn worlds and thus wipe out the Hegemony's tech base. Moreso, the Romulans had taken heavy losses in even making the attempt, for the Gorn had surrounded their remaining worlds with a vast number of armed ships and satellites, all networked together into a vast and responsive weapons platform, and all programmed to open fire the instant in which the sensor nets detected alien ship signs.

That system had worked well enough for the Hegemony, for they'd wiped out a third of the Romulan force within minutes after the Romulan ships uncloaked in the process of firing upon the Hegemony's worlds… after which the remaining Romulans cloaked and vanished from the system, only to later link up with The Breed a few dozen light years away from the Gorn system, all in order to set up a surveillance net against the Hegemony.

Still, something good had come of this second strike in Hegemony space, for atop the fact that the Romulans had torched 37 high value planetary targets with nuclear fire, this strike reinforced the threat which the Federation now represented to the Hegemony, and forced the Gorn to defend their remaining homeworlds in perpetuity with vast numbers of ships, and all those ships and Gorn warriors were essentially neutralized, kept off the front lines for the remainder of the war, for frequent attack by both Romulan and Bands' ships on Gorn scouts and patrols made it clear to the Hegemony's Conclave that Federation forces merely waited for an opening to take another shot at the Gorn homeworlds.

As for the situation on Earth itself, things had grown quite tense, for the initial resistance to the spartan financial measures pushed through the Senate by the Princeps Senatus working in concert with Minister Tucker had created a great deal of angst to a world grown used to a financial spigot pouring largess freely upon the populace… that these austerity measures were scheduled to end in five years time, when StarFleet would be large enough to defend Sol system against any more of the Hegemony's thrusts, apparently meant very little to half the population, and what had begun as a series of protests against the strict financial measures in place, had morphed into something nastier, with Minister Tucker as the focus of it all, for that group had taken Senator Wills accusation that Minister Tucker meant to rule as an unelected tyrant and they'd run with it, essentially running a public campaign to demonize the man, in an attempt to force the Senate and the President to act in concert in order to legally remove the minister from his post…

…and in response to those political moves, a whole different contingent arose which vociferously defended both Minister Tucker and the Senate's financial measures which were required to build up StarFleet, and though these two sides had maintained a civil discourse thus far, each additional day cranked up the tension between the two, even as the much smaller segment of moderates were drowned out in the process.

* * *

And even as all this took place on Earth, Malcolm and Ajan made their way through the ancestral home of Ajan's clan, a vast armed fortress, and Malcolm was impressed by the architectural grandeur on display.

Now her clan was currently led by Ajan's uncle, Kasterrak, and Ajan was excited that her Human mate would participate in the clan's annual Kef'torr ceremony, which honored the clan's revered ancestors and their fallen warriors. That Malcolm was invited here, and expected to attend, meant that her mate was now fully accepted into Clan Duk'tarrak.

Not that the matter had ever been in doubt, for High Councilor K'mpec had spoken well of Reed's honor and his courage, and the fact that her mate had conquered six of the ten clan warriors sent to test Reed's mettle in combat was a respectable accomplishment by any measure, for the clan had sent some of it's best warriors, and that had sealed the deal for Malcolm and Ajan, for a Klingon House could tolerate many things, but never weakness, or a lack of honor.

"What?" said Malcolm, for he'd taken note of Ajan's attention.

"Nothing," said Ajan. "Just admiring the way you wear your armor."

"Mmmm," said Malcolm, privately taken with the Klingon armor presented him for this ceremony. "So one last run. What's expected of me in there?"

"You and I will take our places behind my father, along with my siblings," said Ajan, "and when Kasterrak, our clan's leader enters the room, we all stand, and shout "Karzak" over and over again, in cadence with the drummers."

"Right," said Malcolm.

"Now once Kasterrak takes his seat, we fall silent," said Ajan, "and the ceremony begins. One of the first matters to attend to is welcoming our clan's new warriors with gifts of weapons from Kasterrak's own hands, as well as our clan's badge. You will be among these warriors, husband, and for our sake, don't trip and fall, don't screw around, don't step out of line."

"I'm not a fool, Ajan."

"I know, I know," said Ajan. "I'm sorry."

"Now once you all get your weapons you'll take a place at Kasterrak's side, and the entire clan will give you an ovation," said Ajan. "Once done, you'll all return to your places, and then the ceremony begins. We'll sing and chant, and since you're not yet fluent in Klingon, you'll stand by respectfully, at attention Malcolm, until we've completed the ritual."

"All right," said Malcolm, grimly, for Klingon rituals lasted for hours, and what's more, Klingons were an unexpectedly musical people who quite loved their endless chants and musical poems in homage of their ancestors.

"It will all be fine, Malcolm," said Ajan, apparently sensing something of Malcolm's mood, "and after today, every Klingon in the Empire will acknowledge your rightful place among us, as a member of Clan Duk'tarrak.

"I understand, my pet," said Malcolm, after taking a deep breath.

And it was just as Ajan had said: the day was long, but the clan's acceptance was gratifying, the ceremony truly moving, and the after party something right out of a movie…Klingons shedding their armor and their weapons to sink into a raucous uninhibited mass completely enjoying their unity through laughter and comradeship, tests of strength and boastful stories of their deeds as well as ribald acts of sexual union, and all that while consuming prodigious amounts of alcohol and drugs. Best of all Malcolm was affectionately greeted like a brother by all who crossed his path, and he knew enough of Klingons now to know that any of these strangers, well, no longer strangers but rather clansmen, would fight by his side to the death if necessary, just as he'd be expected to do the same on their behalf.

"Here," said Ajan, handing Malcolm what seemed to be a test tube filled with a royal blue liquid. "Take a shot."

Malcolm downed the contents of the vial even as Ajan did the same, and the man found the drink quite tasty. "It's good. Let's get another."

"We can't," said Ajan, giggling a bit, but then she'd already downed a few drinks during the three hours since the party had begun. "This wasn't alcohol, per se, and I've had more than enough."

"So what was it?" said Malcolm.

"A hideously strong aphrodisiac," said Ajan, grinning quite openly now.

Malcolm snorted at that, and said, "You think I need the help, Ajan?"

"You will tonight, kre'salle, if you intend to keep up with me," said Ajan. "I took a double dose of the stuff, and we'll be grinding the night away, and most of tomorrow."

"Great," said Malcolm, about ready to call it a day anyway, and finding the prospect of bedding his wife in the grips of an artificially heightened heat to be an intriguing way to cap the day's events. "How long do we have before this stuff acts on us."

"Not long," said Ajan, already looking a bit flushed, her pupils dilated.

"Any place for privacy in this fortress?" said Malcolm, scenting his mate's arousal as a function of a great mass of pheromones produced and released by Ajan's body in response to the aphrodisiac willfully ingested by the Klingon.

"Oh yes," said Ajan, taking her mate's hand, and leading the man away from the chaotic party and to a quiet suite with its own garden. "Come, Malcolm."

* * *

"Minister Tucker," said Harris, stepping into Trip's office, followed closely by Ke'Zrell. "Good to see you again."

"Hello, Harris," said Trip.

"Harris? His credentials name him T. Malnik," said Ke'Zrell, the Klingon, casually caressing the hilt of the Sheffield patterned, coffin style hilted Bowie knife which he'd picked up somewhere on Earth.

"Harris is a man of mystery, Ke'Zrell, and he goes by many names," said Trip, taking a seat, and gesturing to Harris to do the same. "Leave us."

Ke'Zrell glanced once more at Harris as he grunted to acknowledge his orders, and then the Klingon left the room.

"So what brings you here, Harris?" said Trip, setting out a bottle of tequila, and two shot glasses.

"A number of things," said Harris, "but let's start with your old friend, Commodore Archer."

"What about him?" said Trip, pouring two shots, then placing a glass in front of Harris.

Harris took the glass, and the two men pounded the shot, and then one more.

"For one, Archer's really making waves in StarFleet now," said Harris. "He's sore about the fact that fleet personnel died when the Federation came to Sol system, but I guess you know that, and what's more he's butthurt over the fact that StarFleet lost that skirmish in the first place."

Trip poured them each another shot, after which Harris declined another, so Trip put the booze away.

"I know all that, and I can't say that I blame him," said Trip. "And so…"

"And so he's agitating for removing you from office, and then expelling what you've left of the Bands here in Sol system, though he's not advocating violence against you or the Bands. For now," said Harris. "Were his chatter merely confined to StarFleet I'd not have bothered you with it, but he's got the ear of a number of lawmakers, given his service record, and things are becoming more and more polarized with each passing day. Frankly, the entire Sol system has become a tinder box, and it won't take much to send things spiraling in a bad way. Archer is doing his best to make it so."

"Suggestions?" said Trip.

"You've got plenty of support on your own account, and I doubt they'll be able to force you out," said Harris. "Meanwhile I could rein Archer in on my own, and—"

"What does that mean, Harris? Rein him in…"

"It means that maybe something quite unsavory comes out about Archer," said Harris. "Few lawmakers would stick their necks out for a controversial figure."

"Don't do that, Harris. You do something like that, and I'm done with you."

"Listen Minister, it would be best—"

"Don't do that, Harris," said Trip.

"Fine," said Harris, the man clearly displeased at the minister's attitude. "Let's move on than, we've got other topics to cover."

* * *

"It's good," said T'Pol.

Her mother, T'les, had just laid out a tray with two vegetarian wraps which she'd just built for their lunch.

"Mmm, hmm," said T'Les in agreement, quite pleased with herself for this had been her first attempt at this particular wrap.

The two Vulcans ate in silence for a while, savoring the food, but eventually T'Les spoke.

"So what is wrong with you, T'Pol?"

"Nothing," said T'Pol.

"T'Pol."

T'Pol sighed, and said, "I worry for Trip's safety, mother."

"That is a logical concern, T'Pol," said T'Les. "Unfortunately, your mate chose to put himself in a controversial position. At least he spends the majority of his time on Tek'Xzen, and that's a secure location."

"Yes," said T'Pol, privately relieved by that fact. "But still…"

"What?"

"I have had a dream of Trip being shot," said T'Pol, "and I found it quite disturbing."

"A dream is just a dream, T'Pol."

"I have had this dream regularly, for the past few months," said T'Pol, "with slight variations."

T'Les said nothing, considering her daughter's words for a time, and though the Vulcan was not well acquainted with psychic phenomena for her blood line was not gifted in such things, psychics were common in Vulcan society, in comparison to Human society, so such things as premonitions were taken seriously.

"You fear this dream is a premonition?" said T'Les, for although T'Pol's psi rating was quite low, such things as premonitions were still quite possible.

"I do not know," said T'Pol. "Perhaps…"

"I will speak with Soval," said T'Les. "He has the contacts needed here, with some of the mind-priest evacuated off Vulcan before the Gorn attack on our planet. We can not leave something like this to chance."

"I agree," said T'Pol, mother and daughter united on this issue.

* * *

Efram, or rather the man known as Efram, entered the shitty macrobiotic restaurant which his contact had selected for their meeting, but Efram wasn't here for the food, and soon enough, his contact appeared, a man named Tassik, a ostensibly a low ranking legal mouthpiece serving John Paxton's corporation, but Efram knew that was just a cover for the man, for Efram's organization had done business with Paxton on several previous occasions.

A few minutes delay while the waitress took their order and brought their drinks, after which Tassik got right down to business, sliding a PADD device towards Efram. The photo on the video screen showed Minister Tucker, flanked by his Vulcan mate, outside the Senate building.

"I have a friend who wants to send a message to Minister Tucker," said Tassik.

"What kind of message?" asked Efram, just to be certain.

"A very clear message," said Tassik.

"The price will be high," said Efram, after a moment's consideration.

"I understand," said Tassik.

Efram whispered a number, and Tassik nodded his agreement without hesitation, after which Efram slid a business card towards Tassik.

"There's an account number on the back of that card," said Efram. "Once our funds are deposited, an operator will be assigned to this task. As before, he will choose the time and place to deliver the message, and neither he, nor we, will be rushed in the completion of this task."

"Understood," said Tassik, and just like that, their business was concluded.

Minutes later, the waitress returned to the table with two plates heaped high with food, only to find $40 on the table, the two men already gone. Happily, she smiled - her dog loved macrobiotic food, and the money left by those two men gave her a fat tip to boot.


	37. Chapter 37

— **Chapter 37 —**

* * *

"Enter," said T'Pol, and a moment later Ke'Zrell entered T'Pol's office on Tek'Xzen, the Vulcan combat cruiser drafted into service of the Uhlans years earlier.

"Hail, Commander," said Ke'Zrell politely, for while Klingons did not generally hold Vulcans in particularly high esteem, Ke'Zrell had learned enough of T'Pol's story to respect this particular Vulcan in consideration of the odds she'd overcome - this one was a warrior, unlike the vast majority of her insipid species.

T'Pol nodded towards the Klingon, indicating that he should take a seat with that dip of her head, and then the Vulcan got directly down to business.

"Since you are the one primarily responsible for Minister Tucker's safety, I have some matters to discuss with you, Ke'Zrell," said T'Pol.

The Klingon grunted and waited for the Vulcan to make her point, though in truth the woman was being gracious in saying that he was the one primarily responsible for Tucker's safety… he'd seen her quietly watching her mate, and watching out for him, as subtly and yet as intently as a she-vrok in heat, and Ke'Zrell had long recognized a trained operator in the woman's constant readiness, just as he'd long recognized a trained unarmed combatant in her graceful movements, her fine motor control, and her discipline.

"I am certain that your input will aid me in the performance of my duties, Commander," said Ke'Zrell courteously, "if you'd care to discuss your concerns with me."

And speak she did for the next few minutes, for the Vulcan quickly painted a sparse description of the prophetic visions she'd had of her mate's assassination, and dressed those visions in some Vulcan psycho-babble of psychic premonitions and such, but Ke'Zrell took it all in stride… if T'Pol believed all this to be real, well it did no harm to hear the woman out, and consider her words carefully.

"Hmmmm," said Ke'Zrell, once T'Pol had given voice to her concerns. "So your mind-priest was able to draw no more of this threat from your visions, than a distant shooter while Minister Tucker gives a public speech?"

"No more than that, though I have calculated the passage of time, angles and elevation carefully," said T'Pol, sliding a PADD unit with some mathematical data towards the Klingon. "If my visions are true, the shots will come from this vector, 1.34 degrees more or less to either side, and a minor variance in elevation. I will of course be receptive for more clues, and perhaps..."

"Certainly, but if you truly believe your visions, Commander, caution demands we cancel all of Minister Tucker's public appearances," said Ke'Zrell.

T'Pol sighed and nodded her agreement, then said, "Rest assured that I will push for that from my end, Ke'Zrell, but Minister Tucker is notoriously stubborn. Worse yet, his duties may demand a public appearance from the man."

Ke'Zrell thought for a bit, then said, "And there was nothing distinctive in your visions, nothing you recall? The uniform he wore, the look of the venue, nothing at all?"

"I am afraid not," said T'Pol placidly, though privately just as frustrated as the Klingon seemed to be on the surface. "All were cloaked by darkness, save for Minister Tucker on his well lit podium, and the flash of a weapon, shooting from the darkness."

The Klingon nodded, and said, "Political figures generally employ counter measures to prevent assassination. Podium mounted force shields to protect the speaker, defensive fibers woven into clothing, infrared strobe lights to disrupt range finders and such, etc… We can discuss these measures and many more, in depth, and come to a—"

"Ke'Zrell," came Minister Tucker's voice over the intercom, Tek'Xzen's computer having automatically routed Trip's voice to Ke'Zrell's location. "To the Bridge."

Ke'Zrell growled in frustration.

"No matter, Ke'Zrell," said T'Pol, studying the Klingon for a moment. "I'll seek you out this evening. We will discuss our options at that time."

"As you say, Commander," said Ke'Zrell, gaining his feet. "Until later."

And with that the Klingon left T'Pol alone with her thoughts, and those thoughts turned to her mate, and now T'Pol's lips lifted into a very slight smile as the Vulcan recalled their first days together… she'd been more than half crazed in those days, her mask of control painfully brittle and only the darkest of despair as her constant companion - and then she'd met Trip. He'd seemed so threatening to her then in the way that the man allowed his emotions free rein in his psyche, but much more compelling than the fear for T'Pol had been the sense of strength and stability which she'd clearly perceived in the Human, a controlled masculinity which had soothed the Vulcan's tattered psyche in so many ways, and caressed her so deeply…

…and now this, for if her visions were true, someone meant to rob her of her mate. That couldn't be allowed to happen, and if such a thing happened despite her best efforts, and if she lived past such a dark day, T'Pol had every intention of cruelly avenging her mate before she ended her misery by her own hand, for in truth the Vulcan had never entirely come back to logic as the guiding force of life - she'd grown much stronger since then, true, but she'd done so twined about her mate, like ivy growing lushly twined round a stone pillar, and T'Pol had no intention of clinging to life without her mate... well, no longer than needed to avenge him.

* * *

First-Claw Telserrej, the Gorn commander in charge of this strike force reviewed the final preparations for attack against the disgusting melange of alien filth which formed the Federation, and which seemed as similar to the Gorn as if they were one and the same, despite their separate genesis and evolution on their respective but worthless planets scattered thorough a half dozen sectors of space.

Telserrej was in a foul mood indeed, but that was to be expected, for a species as fierce and predatory as the Gorn would not be pleased at the humiliation of fighting a defensive war to defend the Hegemony, and yet this was what they'd been reduced to by the cowardly attacks on the Hegemony's core territory by those cursed Human Bands that first time not all that long past, and now much more recently by those green blooded newcomers which data intercepts had named the Romulans.

No matter, for Telserrej and his strike force meant to atone for the former Conclave's missteps in handling this war, and they meant to do so in spectacular fashion in a matter of hours, all due to the development of the Vilssak side-step technology just recently developed, in which a daisy-chained string of 43 massive cold fusion reactors housed on the small planetary satellite named DT-004 opened what essentially amounted to a giant gate onto the tau and maun layers of sub-space, allowing the Hegemony's troops to travel undetected through said sub-space for a few lightyears, which was more than enough distance to aid the Gorn in better patrolling their core territory… and if one day the Hegemony's scientists could figure out a way to extend that range by a factor of a thousand or more, the Hegemony could once more take war to the enemy on their terms, and honor the dictates of the Black Sun… but that was a matter for another day, and on this day Telserrej's combat group planned to side-step travel with a distinct goal in mind, to surprise the enemy force which had raided Hegemony space for months now, wiping them out in the process.

Automated probes had been launched all over Hegemony space in recent months, you see, and the data collected by these probes had been fed into the Central Computer which filtered and then sorted the billions of bits of collected data, after which the Central Computer analyzed the data threads deemed most relevant and finally reached conclusions and laid plans, when a subtle pattern had been noted in the movements of the elusive force, composed of Romulan cruisers and the Human Band, The Breed, which seemed to pass through sector FT989a every 7 to 16 days… and the computer had studied the patterns, and seeded the surrounding sectors with sensor nets in order to accumulate more data, and thus the Central Computer had predicted that the Federation raiding force would once again pass through FT989a, a few tenths from now… and Telserrej's strike force would be waiting for that alien filth!

* * *

"Tactical, report," said Mosby, commander of The Breed from the Bridge of Cannae, his flagship, as the Breed altered course to pass through what Humans called the Frost Nebula.

"All readings are nominal, Captain," said Cannae's Tactical officer.

Mosby murmured and pulled Tactical's data feed, viewing it on the small video screen built into the arm of his command chair… the feed showed The Breed's convoy of hundreds of ships flying in a loose formation, as well as the Romulan flagship flying on Cannae's port side - the rest of the Romulans were cloaked, and thus invisible to sensor nets, for the Romulans traveled cloaked in Hegemony space. A sensible precaution. The Breed would have such capabilities soon as well, for all species of the Federation had freely shared their technical data, but for now The Breed would have to be satisfied with strategic invisibility from Gorn sensors, if not visual invisibility, and all that due to the the innovations brought forth by Trip soon after the Bands had formed in the Vulcan system. They'd worked well enough, until now that is, for all of a sudden, an obscene portal opened in space, disgorging hundreds of Gorn ships flying parallel to The Breed.

"Evasive action!" said Mosby. "Get us out of here."

Tactical passed the captain's command to the rest of The Breed without delay for The Breed was a fleet composed of very fast but lightly armed ships, scouts and raiders rather than true ships of the line, and facing the Gorn was best done on The Breed's own terms… still, despite The Breed's quick response, what followed was a blood bath, for the Gorn had achieved tactical surprise and their fire cut through The Breed even as the Gorn were themselves surprised in turn when cloaked Romulans, to their credit, struck back in defense of The Breed, with a ferocity and a focus which took even the Gorn aback.

* * *

Soval entered the recently purchased house he shared with Bronte, breathing free at last after a long day as he looked about. It had been an impulsive purchase for the Vulcan, a brownstone row house built in 1876 and renovated many times since, and though it was a relatively humble property for one of his rank, and situated on an oddly shaped lot at that, it had an unusually large backyard and Soval had turned half of it over to Bronte, for the woman had a love for gardening, and took to the task of converting her allotted space to a vegetable garden with the zeal of a mole… and even as he glanced out onto the back yard, Soval saw Bronte happily digging through the dirt, and the Vulcan gave a slight snort of controlled amusement.

He'd go out there soon enough, but first the Vulcan filled an over-sized moka pot with water, intending to greet his mate with a cup of fresh coffee for the woman was addicted to the brew, yet charmingly insisted that his coffee tasted better than her's, and dramatically claimed that she could drink no other - Soval, of course, saw it for the manipulative tactic it was, but such things were a small price to pay for the pleasure he took in his mate.

And as the coffee brewed, Soval considered the state of things he'd dealt with today, for just as he'd come together with Bronte, Vulcans and Humans seemingly charted a shared destiny together. The High Command had given up attempts to find another homeworld for the Vulcans, and the Humans as a whole, had made it clear that Vulcans had no reason to fear expulsion. Oh, certainly, Terra Prime, a separatist organization got a fair amount of publicity lately, but their numbers were dwindling, and support for the Vulcans strong, and unless Terra Prime could somehow turn things round in some dramatic fashion, Soval wrote that organization off as a relatively minor concern.

Much more interesting than Terra Prime, were the six cities which were organically growing in the deserts of the American Southwest, for the Vulcans had a great deal of experience in living within the ecological niche of a hot and arid desert climate, and they flocked to that region with EarthGov's blessing, intending to rebuild at least a small part of Vulcan on Earth, and these Vulcans were soon joined in the effort by a good number of Humans who were content to watch and learn and contribute to these Vulcan efforts while allowing Vulcan mores and sensibilities to guide the pace, process and design of these cities. It was something completely new and unexpected for both species, this extended joint venture, and the ambassador intended to visit Ve'relle, the largest of these fledgling cities, in the coming weeks, and he would take Bronte along as well, if he could manage to coax the woman out of her vegetable patch.

Just then, a tap on the glass drew Soval's attention, and he saw a dirt covered Bronte looking in on him with a crooked smile, and Soval gave the woman a pleasant nod and moved towards the door to greet her properly, but Bronte pointed towards the moka pot with a quick thrust of her finger… well, she'd get her coffee eventually, but Soval took his time, teasing the woman a bit, even taking a few sips of his coffee to taunt her, until Bronte finally held up the gardening hoe she leaned on, and mimed clubbing Soval to death, at which point the Vulcan thought it logical to end the dangerous game of teasing his emotional mate.

* * *

The remnants of The Breed formed up at fallback position T5 to await the Romulans, for The Breed had long ago outrun the pursuing Gorn, while the Romulans had tangled with the rest of the Hegemony fleet to buy The Breed time and space to make their escape. Escape it did, but not before losing 82 ships to the Gorn, and that was a grievous loss, amounting to 27% of The Breed, thousands of crewmen… worst yet, Cannae had tangled with two Gorn ships in an attempt to relieve pressure on two wounded Breed ships, and though those ships made good their escape due to Cannae's interference, Cannae had paid the price for aid, and Mosby, leader of The Breed had fallen along with his crew and his ship. Such grievous setbacks had happened before in standing against the Gorn, of course they had for the Gorn were no joke, but Mosby's loss shook his men, for Mosby had been one of five of the Old Guard which had established the Bands, along with Tucker and Babula, Hanshiro and Charbonneau.

Just then hundreds of Romulan ships decloaked about The Breed, many of them still bearing the same signs of battle which the survivors of The Breed themselves carried… plasma burned hulls, disruptor fire marks peppering the hulls, and piercing the hulls. That battle must have been a nasty one too, for the Romulans had held the Gorn back for the better part of an hour to buy The Breed time to run, and the Humans knew they owed the Romulans their lives.

"We're being hailed, Captain," said the Comm officer of the Red Hawk.

Given the losses suffered against the Gorn, Simmons was the highest ranking officer in the chain of command now, and he commanded The Breed until that Band could select a new commander.

Simmons spoke and Comm passed the comm stream to Red Hawk's main video monitor, to show a view of a Romulan officer, seemingly impassive despite the bandage which covered his eye, or what was left of his eye.

"R'Hael," said Simmons respectfully, recognizing the Romulan as the commander of this Romulan fleet. "We owe you our lives."

"It was our duty," said R'Hael, waving off the Human's thanks, despite the losses his fleet had undoubtedly suffered.

Simmons followed R'Hael's lead and said, "What now?"

"The game has changed," said R'Hael, "given the innovation we've seen from the Gorn just now. I will call for reinforcements as soon as possible, and will strongly suggest we finish this battle against the Gorn despite the heavy losses we'll all undoubtedly suffer in making the attempt. I suggest you do the same on your end."

Simmons, saw the logic of it: if the Gorn had discovered a new means of locomotion, one which was undetectable, the entire Federation was in danger, facing threats and operations along interior lines which would be hard to counter.

"I agree with you, R'Hael," said Simmons. "But for now we need time to make repairs, time to analyze this situation, so I suggest we fall back to Sector 14, just barely inside Hegemony space."

"I agree," said R'Hael.

"What do you think happened back there?" said Simmons, already looking past the current difficulties and looking to the future. "The Gorn were waiting for us, R'Hael."

"I think we allowed ourselves to become too predictable," said R'Hael. "Either that, or the Gorn have improved the quality of their sensor nets somehow. We will make our repairs, and then we will scramble our operational patterns for now, take some Gorn captives, and squeeze them for answers."

"Aye," said Simmons, knowing that the Romulans could get answers from a stone, so skilled were their 'Inquisitors' - Inquisitors... such a polite term for torturers, not that Simmons had a problem with that fact, as a cold hatred for the Gorn among the Bands nearly equaled that which the divinely inspired Gorn held for the rest of the galaxy.


End file.
